by Jenn Lees
Rory swallowed and opened his mouth to speak.
“Rory!” Murray shouted from the control panel. “Siobhan needs to be in the Time Machine now!”
Rory ran her to the cubicle and shoved her in. Dim sunlight from the gaping hole in the barn wall landed on the machine. Through the haze of fine particles remaining from the shower of debris, the sun’s beams angled to horizontal, the setting sun lowering to a hair’s breadth from the horizon.
Rory leaned in and kissed her soundly on the mouth.
“I love you, Rory,” she said when he released her.
“Aye, like we say. Yours for all time—whatever time may bring us.” A look of pain filled his face. He leaned in and kissed her again then held her close. “It goes against all I believe,” he whispered into her ear, “concerning the ethics of time travel—” A crash rang through the barn, showering them with more dust. They both flinched. “But,” he continued, “I’ll say it anyway. Change the past to make a better future.”
At Rory’s words, the tension in Siobhan that had built throughout her day in this future, now released. But his charge wasn’t only personal, it was about the lives of their children and a whole Community.
Hell, it was about a whole way of life and communities of people.
“Everyone has a price, they say.” Rory grimaced. “I’m willing to go against my convictions to prevent ma people being enslaved to Lloyd and prevent this war with the New Scottish Government.” His look was grim. “And every other bad thing there is in this time.”
“What do you want me to do, Rory?”
“Don’t die, Siobhan.”
Chapter 11
Autumn Equinox, Edinburgh 2061
Rory and Xian travelled along the old Queensferry Road and headed toward Leith then cut across to Arthur’s Seat. Xian had advised it would be best to avoid the old central business district of Edinburgh proper, Edinburgh Old Town, and the Royal Mile. They passed soot-stained stone dwellings with boarded-up windows and overgrown hedges. Rubbish lined the wet streets. The stench of stale milk, rotten meat, and human excrement seared Rory’s nostrils so he covered his nose with his neckerchief.
Groups of men stood at crossroads and glowered at them as they passed. A group of younger men eyed the pack horse’s load. Xian unsheathed his sword, which glinted in the grey daylight, and the youngsters stepped back and waved them on.
“Where’s the entrance?” Rory asked Xian as they trotted the horses around the wide green at the bottom of Arthur’s Seat and arrived at the base of the hill.
Xian shrugged.
They followed the old road that curved behind the steep hill. Here, a tall, concrete wall covered in rusted barbed wire protruded out from the base, making a three-sided enclosure, the back abutting the mount. A double gate of thick steel had a guard tower on one side, where a sentry with binoculars watched their approach and spoke into a communication device.
“They know who we are,” Xian said.
“Aye, they’ve been on the lookout since ma CB conversation with Siobhan a week ago.”
While they drew closer, more armed men appeared along the top of the high concrete walls of the enclosure.
“This is becoming repetitive,” Rory commented.
“Calm, Rory. You can’t jeopardise this or you may never see your bride.”
“State your name and business,” the guard shouted once they’d reach hailing distance.
“Rory Campbell, and I’m here to see my wife. You ken her as Siobhan Kensington-Wallace.”
The gates ground open. Rory kicked Boy to a trot and Xian followed, and the gate shut swiftly behind them. They faced a row of armed men holding British Defence Force light machine guns, GPMGs. One soldier stood out in front.
Rory pulled Boy up short.
“Och. I’m a friend,” he shouted to the one who appeared to be the officer in charge.
The man stepped closer and lifted his headgear to reveal the stern, clean-shaven face of a man in his late thirties. “Hello, Mr Campbell. I’m Captain Henderson. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Hello.” Rory’s shoulder muscles tightened. “I’m here to see ma wife. May my friend, Xian, and I enter the Bunker, please?”
The communication handset clipped on Henderson’s belt jumped to life and he listened to the low-volumed message. “Follow me, Mr Campbell.”
They dismounted and led the horses and followed Henderson down a concrete road with a detail falling in behind. The road angled steeply down, lit by electric lights either side. The air cooled with their descent, and Boy’s uncomfortable nickers mixed with the clip-clop of the horses’ tread echoing off the walls close beside them. The tunnel-road was the width of a large vehicle. Then it widened further into an area about the size of the whole Invercharing Compound. Vehicles filled this space with tanks parked by a far wall, also jeeps and armoured vehicles, many of which Siobhan and her company had driven to the compound when they came to assist with the submarine in Loch Ewe.
Henderson led them to a raised concrete platform, which he jumped up onto and turned to face them, holding his palm out in a halting gesture.
“Wait here, please, while I get Ms Kensington-Wallace.” Henderson beckoned another soldier to come and stand on the platform. She did so, holding her GPMG before her. Henderson then left via a door, through which Rory glimpsed a concrete stairwell.
The armed escorts who’d shadowed their entry now positioned themselves around them. Rory smiled at the closest. The soldier blinked but didn’t return the gesture. At the back of the car park were a row of bays. In one, a man tinkered underneath a jeep raised on a hoist. Mechanical whining, sharp and high pitched, and a clattering came from that direction. The door to the stairwell slammed and Henderson returned.
“We are locating Ms Kensington-Wallace now. She won’t be long,” he said, standing with legs apart and hands behind his back.
Minutes passed.
Shouted orders of the men by the vehicles in the work area echoed across the large parking bay.
A woman in uniform, wearing an uneasy expression, stepped from the stairwell and spoke into Henderson’s ear. He frowned.
“Anything wrong?” Rory asked.
“No.” Henderson was curt. He whispered to the woman, and she scurried off.
He resumed his stance. At ease, George would call it. But this soldier was not. His brow remained tight, and he blinked often.
“Where’s my wife? I wish to see her now,” Rory demanded.
“She’ll be here soon, Mr Campbell.”
Boy pranced behind him, the clattering of his hooves on the concrete floor stirring up the other horses. Rory and Xian turned to shush them.
“McMichael!” Henderson shouted. “Take these animals somewhere and tend to them.”
A soldier stepped forward looking stunned. He slung his light machine gun over his shoulder and nudged his neighbour who did the same. They approached the horses, took the reins, then led them away. Boy’s uneasy nickering travelled back to Rory as the horses were led to the farthest side of this level.
“Don’t worry, Campbell,” Henderson said. “We have animals too.”
Rory tried to suppress a niggle in his gut. Something was wrong. They were stalling.
“Why is it taking so long to get my wife?” Rory asked.
The door to the stairwell opened and a woman wearing a neat skirt suit strode out. Henderson and the other defence force personnel snapped to attention. The woman, who seemed to be about Siobhan’s age, whispered to Henderson. Henderson indicated in Rory’s direction.
The woman rested her gaze on Rory; her face held an expression like she’d stood in something unpleasant and was about to wipe it off her shoe.
“I’m Rory Campbell and I want to see my wife.” Rory made to jump up onto the concrete platform.
The stomp of footsteps in unison came behind him as the soldiers sprang to action. Henderson stiffened and glared at him.
“It’s been authorised,”
the woman said to Henderson, then to Rory, “Mr Campbell, the PM would like to see you. Please come with me.”
All personnel surrounding Rory relaxed, so he climbed onto the platform and Xian followed.
“No. Just Campbell to go with the PM’s secretary.” Henderson placed a hand on Xian’s arm. “You stay here.”
Rory entered the stairwell and turned to glance at Xian who tipped his head. Rory followed the Prime Minister’s secretary and, accompanied by Henderson, they walked up three flights.
The door exiting the stairwell led to a long corridor floored with shiny smooth concrete. The lights were of a different glow and only came on as Rory’s guide neared them. Axes in sealed glass-fronted boxes were attached to walls at various places, often near intersecting corridors, and long coiled hoses sat beneath signs that read FIRE.
As Rory followed the woman, he contemplated her suit; it was similar to the style Angela preferred to wear. He grunted at the thought of bumping into her. They came to an area with many doors exiting from a waiting room. Paintings hung on the walls above couches. One was of an old building with the words Holyrood House engraved on a plaque mounted beneath it. The painting opposite was of a straight-lined concrete building with many windows. The plaque under this one read, Scottish Parliament Building.
The secretary to the PM stopped at the office ahead of Rory, while Henderson positioned himself beside it, standing guard. Men and women sat or stood by desks with computers, most busy at their tasks, others stole sneaky looks at Rory. The soft collar of Rory’s home-spun shirt grew hot around his neck.
The door to the PM’s office opened and a tall man, military-looking with a closely cropped haircut and neat uniform, walked out. He stopped mid-stride and glared at Rory.
“William MacIntosh,” Rory grimaced. “How’s IT going?”
MacIntosh straightened his tie. “IT is going fine, Campbell. It’s your brother’s project that is giving me grief.”
Rory lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I’m sure he’s doing his best under the circumstances. Being away from his home, an’ all.”
MacIntosh let out a short, derisive laugh. “That young man is wasted at home,” he said, and continued his journey out of the office area without another comment. Rory grunted at MacIntosh’s back as the secretary knocked on the door.
“Come.” The muffled voice behind the door had a commanding tone and Rory tensed, straightening his shoulders.
“The Prime Minister will see you now, Mr Campbell.” The PM’s secretary opened the door.
Directly in front of him hung an enormous picture of a square tower standing high above a forest. Its sandstone solidity protruded proudly through lush green foliage. He couldn’t decide if it was a painting or a very large photograph, but he knew its subject—the Wallace Monument.
The large office contained shelves full of books with a massive desk placed centre-stage. Behind it sat a woman wearing a tailored suit. She was dark-skinned and dark-haired, and when her gaze lifted from her desk’s contents, dark eyes pierced him.
“May I call you Rory?” Bethany Watts asked; her hand motion inviting him to enter.
“Aye, please do, Prime Minister.” He edged forward and stood before her desk, which was as immaculately tidy as Murray’s.
“Please sit.” Bethany’s gaze travelled over him.
“Ye’ll have to excuse me, ma’am.” Rory remained standing. “I’ve been on the road for a week and I have nae been able to wash.” He looked down at his buckskins and his jacket. He was unkempt. She must think him a vagabond.
Bethany finished studying him then engaged her vision with his, but said nothing.
“I am here for my wife.”
“Siobhan Kensington-Wallace is a vital member of this Bunker.” Bethany’s voice was hard. “The New Scottish Government needs her.”
“Siobhan is my wife.” Rory stepped up to her desk and placed his fists on it. “I need her.”
“I may not be able to let her go.” Bethany stood.
Rory exhaled heavily through his nose. “I ken she has an assistant. She can do her job.” He leaned forward on his knuckles, narrowing his eyes. “I will take my wife with me when I leave.”
Bethany’s perfect mouth became a thin line. Small beads of sweat formed above her upper lip. Her deep brown eyes locked with his and her right eye twitched.
After a sharp knock on the door, a woman entered.
“Yes, Louise?” Bethany stepped back, her shoulders easing.
Rory continued to lean on her desk with white-knuckled fists.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace’s brother-in-law—” Louise interrupted herself. “I mean, the young man from the Community who is assisting with the Time Machine, wishes to speak with Mr Campbell, ma’am.”
Rory spun. Louise was the woman who had first whispered into Henderson’s ear.
Louise flinched and stared up at Rory. “Shall I let him in, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Bethany ordered from behind Rory.
Louise left for a second and returned with Murray.
“Rory!” Murray stepped to Rory and gave him a hug.
“Good to see you,” Rory said over his head.
Murray disengaged from their hug and faced Bethany. “I know where Siobhan is, ma’am. May I take my brother to her?”
“Certainly.” Bethany’s tone had a barely concealed edge of relief to it. “Louise, go with them.”
“No, it’s okay,” Murray said. “Honestly, don’t trouble yourself. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Rory?” He looked to Rory and raised his eyebrows a fraction.
“Aye, dinnae you worry. Ma wee brother will take me to my wife.” Rory smiled, facing Bethany and trying to make it sincere.
She indicated her consent with a slight nod.
Murray led Rory out the door and through long, dimly lit corridors with more shiny floors and plenty of other corridors and doors leading from them.
“How d’you do that?” Rory asked.
“They like me,” Murray answered, striding ahead. “They appreciate brains.”
“We do, too.” Rory frowned.
“Yeah, I know you do, but the guys I grew up with just thought I was odd. Brendan was the only one who understood me.” Murray grew quiet as they walked down a flight of stairs.
“Where are we going?” Rory asked, after passing yet another landing leading off to a floor. “Where’s Siobhan?”
“Ah, well, I’ll tell you when we get there.” Murray’s voice echoed in the stairwell.
“Get where?” Rory’s skin prickled. “Tell me what?”
Defence force personnel in uniform were everywhere. Murray led Rory down six flights of stairs in total. The only exit from the Bunker appeared to be from this stairwell and up to that garage.
Where were they holding the horses? So far in this bunker, nowhere looked suitable for animals.
“The Scottish Government Bunker is thirty floors deep, has three stairwells, two lift wells, one main entry and exit point...the garage level. There are sure to be smaller exits, but I haven’t been informed of them...or discovered them myself yet.” Murray strode beside him. “There’s at least twenty thousand LED lights. It has solar and nuclear power sources.” Murray’s speech accelerated with the revelation of each fact. “They use electricity generated by the only functioning power station in Scotland. We’ve been there, Rory. It’s the one at Torness.” Murray’s eyes lit up.
“Forget the guided tour.” Rory held his impatience in check. “Where’s Siobhan?”
Murray ducked his head then led him from the stairwell to a narrow corridor. Numbered signs reading Laboratory were on every door leading off it. At the end, Murray unlocked a door and stepped through. Rory followed him into a bare room, neat and clean. Sterile. Rory blinked under the weird electric lighting.
“Yeah, you get used to the LED,” Murray commented.
“How do you know what time it is?”
Murray lifted his arm to show his wristwatch.
“Where’s Siobhan? Why d’you bring me to a lab?” The hairs on Rory’s neck rose. “I thought we’d be going to her room.”
Murray scrunched his mouth to the side. His pupils dilated, either from the dim light—or fear.
“What happened,” Rory said through a tight jaw.
“It wasn’t my fault, Rory—”
“What wasn’t?” Rory grabbed Murray and tried not to shake him. “Where’s Siobhan?”
“I don’t know exactly. She went in the Time Machine and she hasn’t come back yet.”
Chapter 12
Scottish Government Bunker, Edinburgh, 2061
Rory turned away and grasped his head, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.
“How are we going to get her back?” He slid his hands into his hair and gripped tight. His scalp burned. It was nothing compared to the heat of the desert in his soul—a dry barren wasteland without Siobhan. “I’m about to take her home and you’ve lost her in time forever!”
“Sunset,” Murray announced.
Rory flung his hands down and reeled around to Murray who had calmed, apart from a bobbing Adam’s apple.
“It’s the equinox.” Murray’s sudden composure set Rory’s teeth on edge.
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Siobhan travelled this morning at sunrise. The machine wasn’t set to a year, so she’ll probably go to the past—its usual default setting. She’ll have a day catching up with her dad, most likely, then she’ll return at sunset.” Murray seemed confident. “Siobhan will know to get to the Time Machine for that.”
Rory blinked. “How do we know when that is, in this place that never sees the daylight?”
Murray held up his watch.
“Sunrise was 6:03 am. So sunset on the equinox will be 6:03 pm.” Murray stated matter-of-factly.
Rory stared, curling his fingers into a clench, and counted to ten.
“How could you let her—”