The Unearthing (23 page)

The Committee reported to itself. Only its members knew it existed. And its members were all fully aware how their work could benefit the citizens of the countries they represented. At the very least they knew how to use the Committee to their own personal advantage, in the name of their countries. The Minister hadn’t yet determined which of the two categories he fell into, but he nevertheless understood that it would help if he came to understand which of the two categories the rest of his colleagues fell into.

His secure console in place, his door locked and the antisurveillance sweep of his offices complete, the Minister sat down at his desk. Onscreen eight small windows surrounded a central window; in each the face of a Committee member. The head of MI-6 spoke the traditional opening and as he did his image was brought to the central window. The Minister had been briefed on him early on after becoming head of National Defence. MI-6 was ruthless, cunning and almost fanatically loyal to the Crown. With the opening phrase delivered, the head of MI-6 launched straight into things:

“We have a unique opportunity before us,” He said, “The assassinations in Laguna enable us to put operatives into play in both direct and indirect contact with the Ship Survey Expedition.” The Minister had read the briefing. At least one position on the Ship Survey Expedition needed to be filled; Echohawk’s role as archaeologist had become mainly academic once it had been determined the Ship was fully active. The aerospace engineer was the more important member of the team. Likewise, the Pentagon would want to put someone new in charge of security at the Site. Because of the World Council’s treaty with the United States regarding the Ship, the US had first right to name members to the Ship Survey Expedition. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff would be in a position to make recommendations for the former and to hand pick the latter if he wanted to. The Committee would take full advantage.

“We have several candidates in mind,” The Chairman said, “The files are on call on your consoles.”

They accessed their consoles, calling up four candidate biographies at a time.

“I notice you haven’t suggested any British engineers mister Chairman.” MI-6 chided.

“Or Canadians,” The Solicitor General added, “I can think of one or two who would fit the bill.” The Minister scanned the bios. He already knew the Americans wouldn’t budge on their “Suggestions”; best to pick the least of available evils. He scrolled through the list, read over the notes and almost scrolled past someone he’d have not expected to be on the list at all. But when he re-read the name he knew he had to act.

“I would suggest Lieutenant-Colonel Margaret Bloom,” He said. Bloom’s reputation preceded her in Defence circles. Legendary pilot, veteran of a number of campaigns, she was also an engineering ace and it wasn’t long before she was test-piloting the latest and greatest on both sides of the border; under North American Union treaty she had worked in Canada as part of a military exchange. She had test flown the prototype for the Bombardier DF-104 Phoenix orbital relay fighter and had helped in its subsequent redesign. And many years before she’d also saved a young woman from rape at the hands of some drunken Marines; taking all four of them on in a knife fight, she was subsequently acquitted of assault with deadly intent at court martial. Bloom was an American Hero, but she was everything good about that ideal. She’d take on her own if they were wrong. She was fifty-five, with another good ten or fifteen years of flying ahead of her. An intelligent, perceptive pilot and engineer in her prime.

“Not only is she Echohawk’s ex-wife,” the Minister continued, “Which, in itself will assist us with both public perception and accessibility to the Ship Survey Expedition, but she is also top in her field. And…working as an engineer in one of the Committee’s double-blind research facilities? Is that accurate, mister Chairman?”

“Yes, it is,” The Chairman Joint Chiefs replied, consulting his console, “Yes, it is. She’s at…our Groom Lake facility.” Onscreen, it seemed to the Minister as though MI-6 was eyeing him studiously. It was an uncomfortable sensation. The Minister had heard stories about him: how perceptive he was, how highly skilled…how merciless and accomplished a killer he had been in his youth. The current head of MI-6 had proven himself countless times as a field operative and as a tactician, baptized in blood during War Three. As a member of the Committee, he was cool, diplomatic and always completely aware of what was going on around him. At once, the Minister felt like a target, a supplicant to interrogation and someone easily dispatched. MI-6’s gaze made the Minister feel mortal, indeed.

“I second the new member’s suggestion,” MI-6 said at last, “Any other suggestions? No? All in favour of Lieutenant Colonel Bloom, then?” As the votes were cast the Minister realized he’d made a gamble suggesting Bloom; he was now responsible for her. He also had to wonder who else here had a stake in Bloom’s candidacy, if anyone, and who didn’t. They had voted for Bloom unanimously save for the Chairman of the Joint Chief’s abstention.

“I have a recommendation for head of security also,” The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said, “He did some work for us when the Ship was found.”

“Do tell, Mister Chairman,” MI-6 urged. “Do tell.”

♦♦♦

Bloom’s leave expired two days after the funeral. Mark’s close family stuck around for most of the first day and the Ship Survey Expedition left only on the morning of the second. Laura had hoped to be able to spend more time alone with her mother, especially now that her father was gone. Laura rose early that day, snapping awake when the door closed as Bloom left for her morning run. She got up, showered and made coffee. Within minutes of the aroma from the coffee machine hitting the air Allison was up, familiarly dressed in an oversize T-shirt and ratty bathrobe. One of the things that had endeared Allison to Laura above all the roommates she’d had in the past was that Allison always woke up if she smelled coffee brewing. Something left over from her childhood, she explained, when her father used to make breakfast every morning, brewing the coffee first thing at five. Now no matter what time it was or what condition she was in from the night before, she would be up and in the kitchen at the first scent of coffee.

“Morning,” rasped Alison. She said nothing else until the coffee was brewed. Once she’d fixed herself a cup and had put half of it away, she came more awake.

“How are you doing today?” she asked. Anyone else asking the question would have made Laura resentful. But it was the same question Allison asked her nearly every morning and held particular meaning after the events of the past few days.

“Better,”

“That’s good,” Allison said, “It’s a start. Good coffee.”

“Thanks,” Laura said with a smile. Her father had taught her to make it when she first started living on her own. His trick was to put a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg in the coffee grounds before brewing. Allison had a cigarette with the last half of her coffee and then headed for the shower. Laura’s mother came back from her run around the time Laura was sitting down to breakfast. Allison was out of the shower and making her own breakfast as Bloom fixed herself some coffee. They talked idly for a while, Bloom having a quick breakfast while Laura and Allison finished theirs. Bloom headed for the shower. Another coffee and then they were getting their day ready. Allison was off to classes, Laura to bid farewell to the SSE and her mother.

Airport greetings and farewells were becoming too commonplace for Laura’s tastes. She turned her car into the parking lot and she and her mother stepped out and headed down to the terminal to meet the SSE and bid them farewell. They found them sitting in the terminal waiting area talking amongst themselves. As Laura and Bloom approached the members of the SSE stood as one. James and Peter were the first to greet them, followed by Aiziz, Andrews and Kodo.

“It’s been good seeing you guys again,” Laura said, “I just wish it had been under happier circumstances.”

“So do I,” Peter said, “So do we all.”

“Actually you may be seeing me around, at least for a little while,” James told Laura, “I’m staying in LA to wrap up the Prof’s affairs at the University. I know the material and where it is in his office. I should stay behind…at least to take care of that. It’s also not just his teaching: there’s speaking engagements, conferences and a whole slew of shit that has to be dealt with by someone who…who knew his itinerary.” There was something else in James’ eyes: a loss, a trauma, a doubt…Laura couldn’t name it, but something said that the University was the simplest excuse as to why he wasn’t returning to the Ship. She hoped she’d find out why, later. If Laura had asked, Bloom could probably have told her the reason: James’s face bore marks she recognized well. During the Australian Conflict Bloom had been stationed in the Philippines with the Allied World Army. She’d had friends among the ground forces and had seen many of them with that same look. It was a look that said: “I’ve seen too much bloodshed. I’ve had enough violent death.” It was a look Bloom associated with combat veterans who’d seen one too many of their comrades killed in action. It was a look that said no force on Earth would bring him back to the place where horrors were made real for him.

“I understand,” she told James. James gave Bloom a knowing nod that told her he knew she did.

“There’s still time to reconsider James,” Aiziz said, “We’d benefit a great deal from your presence at the Site.”

“I know,” He said, “But there are too many things here that need to be done.” The finality of his attitude ended further comment. The flight back to New Mexico began boarding shortly after that, leaving just enough time for final farewells. Then Bloom, Laura and James found themselves together.

“Have you got a place to stay, yet?” Laura asked him.

“I have a guaranteed spot in Campus Apartments as part of my contract as your dad’s TA,” James said, “At least, I will have for the next little while. After that, well, I’ll be looking for a job and a place to stay.”

“You aren’t going back to the Ship Survey at all?” Bloom asked, though in truth she suspected she knew the answer. James looked away and swallowed hard against a lump in his throat.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, his voice heavy. He said nothing more, waiting for Laura while she and her mother bid each other farewell. Then they walked together back towards the parking lot.

“James, why don’t you stay with me and Allison?” Laura offered, “At least until you figure things out. You can have the couch.”

“I don’t know,” James said. “I guess...it’s been a while since you and I really got together to shoot the shit.”

Laura smiled. “It’s settled,” She said, “Let’s get some lunch.”

♦♦♦

“Tower to Moon Dog, over,” Bloom said into her mic. “Report.”

“The floor of the cockpit’s rising up under me,” Captain Harriman’s nervous voice came back, “You’re sure this is safe, over?”

“Roger that,” Bloom said, “Report back when the controls have gone up.”

“Roger.” Bloom toggled off the commlink between herself and the pilot that General Harrod had given the Bug to. It still stung, because up until the funeral the Bug’s first flight had been all but hers. Her mind drifted back to the day before, when she’d returned to the Facility after burying Mark.

“Lieutenant-Colonel,” Harrod had said, returning her salute as she reported in, “Welcome back.”

“Thank you General,” She’d replied, “When has the test flight of our Bug been rescheduled for?”

“Captain Harriman is being briefed on the controls, now.”

“Harriman?” Bloom repeated, “General, I don’t understand.”

“Given the circumstances, Lieutenant-Colonel, it was decided to replace you, as pilot.”

“General, Harriman doesn’t have half the flight time I have,” Bloom had said, “And I’ve seen his jacket! I’ve flown close to a hundred different kinds of aircraft. He’s done what? Ten? Fifteen? The Facility built a Bug prototype just prior to War Three General. At the time the pilot who took it up had
more
experience than I did. He died in the ensuing crash.
I’m
the best pilot here. I should be taking the Bug up.”

“You just came back from burying your husband,” Harrod replied.

“My
ex
-husband sir, though I loved him dearly. I assure you I am ready to fly this mission. I
want
to fly this mission. I need this.”

Harrod regarded her a long time before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant-Colonel. I can’t authorize you to fly this one. You know the regs.”

“With all due respect General,
fuck
the regs!” Bloom snapped.

“Lieutenant-Colonel,” Bloom heard the danger in his voice, “Tread lightly. I’ve explained to you: Harriman is flying this one. He’s been in training for this along with you and the rest of the squad since the cockpit layout was determined. You’ll be in the control tower acting as his flight monitor. You’ll talk him down if anything goes wrong.”

“Anything goes wrong General and there won’t be
time
to talk him down.”

♦♦♦

“Moon Dog to tower,” Harriman reported in, giving his call sign, “The control panel’s materialized. I’m adjusting my display boom to lock onto the console.” Harriman had been supplied with an eyepiece that overlaid the translated runes onto the control panel before him. He sat cradled in the protective restraints of the cockpit, adjusting the eyepiece on his headset console so that the overlay was perfectly set. The display “locked” itself to the console in front of him. Harriman could look away from the Bug’s control panel and the display would likewise scroll away from in front of his eye. The translation team at the Groom Lake Facility had worked no small miracle since Bloom had discovered the Bug’s flight controls.