The Elements of Time by Duncan Lunan

Author:Duncan Lunan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: time travel
Publisher: The New Curiosity Shop
Published: 2016-09-10T15:46:26+00:00

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The recovery crews, now, were all picked men, and the Intelligence presence was everywhere. They were lucky that the impacts had been west of the Uists, where the first bodies were spotted on the long beaches in time for the rest to be intercepted at sea. Had it been over the Minch, they might not have been found among the inlets of West Skye—not at least until so much had come ashore that the secret could never be kept. As it was, with so much retrieval going on out there and with no aircraft reported missing, the operation passed unnoticed.

Of course, they couldn’t find everything. Enough was found by other people, and was strange enough, to set tongues wagging on both sides of the Minch. The West Highland Free Press flew the occasional kite; ‘Bodies But No Murder’ was one of their more accurate headlines, had they known it. But the Ministry line remained firm. “Nothing missing. Rumours? No comment.” Private Eye got on to it, trying to link the rumours to their campaign about the Aer Lingus Viscount lost off the Royal Aircraft Establishment’s own rocket range at Aberporth the previous year. But not even the satirical journal, fighting its way from lawsuit to lawsuit, could make anything of an RAE refusal to answer questions when no aircraft was missing at all.

If the reconstruction had been at Filton, the wreckage could be compared with actual aircraft complete or under construction; but that was out of the question. Instead the RAE Structures Department turned over still another hangar, T-50, where the operation could proceed in secret. A major airlift was organised to bring the wreckage to Farnborough, using everything from Beverleys to Herons, with everything shrouded in plastic or canvas to conceal it from the air and ground crews. The tang of the Hebridean sea came to the Accidents Section, the reconstruction hangar, labs and some of the offices smelling like the quay of a fishing port.

It was especially odd to be commuting from the Hebrides to Farnborough, in these circumstances. The contrast between the flat, near-treeless islands and the leafy lanes of Hampshire was startling enough; and then of course the difference in temperature; but most of all the sky. In Scotland in June and July, especially in the north, twilight lasted all night unless hidden by clouds; in the south of England, the sky was jet black and the stars were brilliant, all the way down to the horizon, not even hidden by the Hebridean haze. He could walk out of the sea-smelling hangar, let his eyes adjust, and see the Milky Way and the Andromeda Nebula—invisible, at this time of year, where those smells belonged.

The tail section, with its puzzling logo, was among the first to be raised. “I don’t believe that at all,” said Carstairs, pointing to the registration number.

“G-BOAG—what’s the matter with that?”

“You’d know if you were from civil aviation, instead of military. BOAC use the letters G-BOAC on every piece of promotional artwork, for every aircraft type.

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