That same Friday evening, about when the secretary at Po Publications was addressing the airmail box to their overseas office, Colonel Sarah Ma-soran arrived at the top-secret facility where she had worked for most of her adult life.
“Leave the gate open, Corporal. A truck from the air base is right behind me, and they’ll be loading all those old P-Seventeen file boxes. When they’re done with those, I’ll have a few more from upstairs.”
“Should I help them, Ma’am?”
“No. With the gate open, you’re strictly security.”
“Yes,
Ma’am.”
Colonel Ma-soran entered the building and climbed the stairs for what would probably be, she realized, the last time.
She found General Bo-seklin in his office putting files into a cardboard box. “Good evening, Sam. How is Malcolm taking it?”
“Not well. When I left, he was cleaning out his desk and grumbling about this new president who’s trying to please everyone. And, like us, he’s worried about Heather. I’m glad she’s on vacation right now.”
At that moment, General Ba-kerga came up the stairs.
“George!” Sam greeted. “What punishment did you get for being in the only successful P-series program?”
He collapse onto the couch by the office door. “They recognized that I
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haven’t been in a leadership position in the program for years, but I could tell they weren’t happy until I offered to step down as base security chief.”
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “Everyone knows you were doing a great job.”
“Any idea what you’re gonna do?” Sam asked as he closed the cardboard file box and labeled it P-17 COMMAND.
“I already offered and they jumped on it. You are looking at the new head of the safe-house program.”
Sam cringed slightly. “That’s ten steps down.”
George nodded as he gazed across the room. “It’s okay. I’m not that far from retirement myself. The first thing I have to do is get rid of two buildings and keep only one. Guess which one I’m keeping.”
Both Sam and Sarah smiled.
“Truck’s all loaded, Ma’am,” the corporal said from the doorway.
“Truck and garage all locked and secure?”
“Yes,
Ma’am.”
“Okay, you and the other men take a break, get whatever you’d like from the kitchen while I pack my files.”
“Yes,
Ma’am.”
An hour later, all the remaining P-Seventeen files and records had been packed into boxes and loaded onto the truck. The sound of its engine, as it faded away into the hills surrounding the top-secret facility, caused a feeling of deep sorrow in all three officers.
When the evening twilight had become silent and still again, the three went back upstairs and the corporal returned to the guard room to read a magazine.
The officers gathered in General Bo-seklin’s office once more.
“Something feels . . . unfinished,” Sam mused from behind his desk.
Sarah nodded. “We aren’t sure we’ve . . . done what’s necessary to avoid the future Heather warned us about.”
“If Doctor Po-selem is right,” George began, “and she’d lose her memories if we had, then we haven’t.”
Sam covered his face with his hands. “What can we do in . . .” He uncovered his face enough to see the clock. “. . . two hours, with no team, no
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records, and no Heather?”
After a long silence, George spoke in a soft, distant voice. “You could . . .
release them.”
Sam’s eyes snapped open wide. “From secrecy?”
Sarah looked at George with equally-wide eyes.
George nodded. “What does the program cancellation order say?”
Sam searched his open briefcase. “Let me see . . . blah blah blah . . . here it is . . . since the program has produced no useful results for the Department of Defense, it is hereby . . . blah blah blah.”
“No useful results,” George echoed. “What could be wrong with releasing civilian contractors . . . including one Priscilla Ka-mentha . . . from secrecy oaths for a program that supposedly accomplished nothing and no longer exists.”
“You’d be on thin ice,” Sarah mumbled.
“You
are retiring,” George pointed out. “I’d share the risk with you if I could, but only you, Sam, have the authority. And you only have it for two more hours.”
General Bo-seklin leaned back and closed his eyes. “Doctor Bo-kamla once suggested we just . . . hand the whole mess to the world, let them work it out.
I guess this is sort of like that.”
“By canceling the program, that’s what’s happening,” Sarah said. “The only question is, will they — Heather and the professors — be afraid to talk and act.”
Sam took a slow breath. “I might be spending my retirement in federal prison, but if Heather taught us anything, it was how to find our courage.
Sarah, how long will it take you to type up a letter to each of the civilians?”
“With that new memory typewriter of mine, an hour at the most!”
“As long as you sign and date them today,” George began, “I’ll get them delivered. Heather won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon or evening.”
“Okay, gather around my desk. Let’s word this thing as carefully as we can
. . .”