scorched.
One of Rankin’s favorite phrases springs to mind unbidden, in exactly the same tone of voice he always used.
Other than that, Mrs. Kennedy,
how was your trip to Dallas?
I’m still not sure I entirely understand the joke, though from the context, I gather it was a bad trip. I should’ve asked him to explain it instead of smiling along with everyone else. Too late now. Strange, the appearances regret takes.
Just before I reach my destination, several men and women wearing United States military fatigues round the corner, and it’s a near collision. Their leader, a man I dimly remember as one of the soldiers we recruited from Churchill base after Juneau, recognizes me almost immediately. His eyes light up and he looks relieved, even as he jerks into a stiff salute.
“Commander Long!” His greeting snaps the rest of the group into the same posture, like falling dominoes in reverse.
Really?
We’re going to do this now?
“At ease, soldier,” I say quickly, moving right through them. “Kind of on a mission here, guys, so if you want to help…keep up. Or, better yet, clear the way.”
The leader barks an order, and the others move ahead, arms spread, shepherding people to the walls and making a small path. He himself falls in beside me, lifts his army cap, and runs a hand through his sweaty black hair. “We have orders to get you to a secure location, ma’am.”
“Orders?” I reply, not slowing my pace. “Orders from who?”
Who else is still alive on the council?
is what I really want to know.
“Standing orders, ma’am. In the event of an emergency, such as this.”
My disappointment is palpable. It was too much to hope for. “Oh. Well, in that case…”
I continue marching straight ahead, taking a right at the fork instead of the left he tries to guide me toward.
“Commander…”
“No. I’m not going to go cower in some bunker somewhere.”
Not yet, anyway.
“Have we secured the air space over the Park? That’s part of our emergency protocols, too, right?” If there’s anything I do pay attention to during long, boring council meetings, it’s worst-case scenarios and contingency plans. In the event of an attack, McKinley base locks down, and any forces in the immediate vicinity are prioritized to defend around Denali. Of course, we planned for an external invasion, anticipating plenty of forewarning as the machines slogged across the arctic tundra. We weren’t expecting this.
Captain Leader hesitates, but one of the women with him jumps into the conversation. “Yes. I heard some of the higher-ups talking about it. The hangar suffered some damage, but I think they already had birds in the sky. Denali’s secure—at least from the outside.”
“Good. Great.” I spot the door to the room with the PA system, and my heart does a little flip. Step one: complete. It feels good to be actively doing something, contributing, as opposed to merely trying to survive myself. If I keep moving, keep working, I don’t have to think about those who no longer have that option. “Right this way, folks,” I say, opening the door. Half the soldiers squeeze in after me, while the remainder wait outside with their weapons drawn.
“Commander?” Captain Leader again. I really should ask him his name, though part of me wonders whether I should already know it. “Mind if I ask you what we’re doing in this—closet?”
“It’s not a closet,” I say, though to be fair, it does kind of look like a closet. Or a small sound studio, minus the window to another room where a high-profile recording artist would be doing their thing. There is a fair amount of electronics, and for a minute I fear I’m out of my depth. Then I notice the main board. It’s practically an antique, reminiscent of the stage equipment I dealt with during my theater days. And in the corner, amid other discarded equipment, there’s an XLR cable coiled on top of a large speaker, some more power cables, and a speaker stand.
One of Rankin’s favorite phrases springs to mind unbidden, in exactly the same tone of voice he always used.
Other than that, Mrs. Kennedy,
how was your trip to Dallas?
I’m still not sure I entirely understand the joke, though from the context, I gather it was a bad trip. I should’ve asked him to explain it instead of smiling along with everyone else. Too late now. Strange, the appearances regret takes.
Just before I reach my destination, several men and women wearing United States military fatigues round the corner, and it’s a near collision. Their leader, a man I dimly remember as one of the soldiers we recruited from Churchill base after Juneau, recognizes me almost immediately. His eyes light up and he looks relieved, even as he jerks into a stiff salute.
“Commander Long!” His greeting snaps the rest of the group into the same posture, like falling dominoes in reverse.
Really?
We’re going to do this now?
“At ease, soldier,” I say quickly, moving right through them. “Kind of on a mission here, guys, so if you want to help…keep up. Or, better yet, clear the way.”
The leader barks an order, and the others move ahead, arms spread, shepherding people to the walls and making a small path. He himself falls in beside me, lifts his army cap, and runs a hand through his sweaty black hair. “We have orders to get you to a secure location, ma’am.”
“Orders?” I reply, not slowing my pace. “Orders from who?”
Who else is still alive on the council?
is what I really want to know.
“Standing orders, ma’am. In the event of an emergency, such as this.”
My disappointment is palpable. It was too much to hope for. “Oh. Well, in that case…”
I continue marching straight ahead, taking a right at the fork instead of the left he tries to guide me toward.
“Commander…”
“No. I’m not going to go cower in some bunker somewhere.”
Not yet, anyway.
“Have we secured the air space over the Park? That’s part of our emergency protocols, too, right?” If there’s anything I do pay attention to during long, boring council meetings, it’s worst-case scenarios and contingency plans. In the event of an attack, McKinley base locks down, and any forces in the immediate vicinity are prioritized to defend around Denali. Of course, we planned for an external invasion, anticipating plenty of forewarning as the machines slogged across the arctic tundra. We weren’t expecting this.
Captain Leader hesitates, but one of the women with him jumps into the conversation. “Yes. I heard some of the higher-ups talking about it. The hangar suffered some damage, but I think they already had birds in the sky. Denali’s secure—at least from the outside.”
“Good. Great.” I spot the door to the room with the PA system, and my heart does a little flip. Step one: complete. It feels good to be actively doing something, contributing, as opposed to merely trying to survive myself. If I keep moving, keep working, I don’t have to think about those who no longer have that option. “Right this way, folks,” I say, opening the door. Half the soldiers squeeze in after me, while the remainder wait outside with their weapons drawn.
“Commander?” Captain Leader again. I really should ask him his name, though part of me wonders whether I should already know it. “Mind if I ask you what we’re doing in this—closet?”
“It’s not a closet,” I say, though to be fair, it does kind of look like a closet. Or a small sound studio, minus the window to another room where a high-profile recording artist would be doing their thing. There is a fair amount of electronics, and for a minute I fear I’m out of my depth. Then I notice the main board. It’s practically an antique, reminiscent of the stage equipment I dealt with during my theater days. And in the corner, amid other discarded equipment, there’s an XLR cable coiled on top of a large speaker, some more power cables, and a speaker stand.
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