Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

  Catalina put out a hand to stop her. “No. No. I’m sorry. It’s just that Alonzo was such a devout follower of the church. The strength of his faith put mine to shame.”

  “That was his problem. He saw his desire for men as evil, a sickness inside him. But that didn’t stop him once he was alone with me on the Golden Goose. When he learned I was really a woman he decided it was all my fault. I had passed as a boy just to tempt him. The guilt was eating him up. Pushing the blame onto me was the only way he could cope.”

  “But that’s just stupid…stupid.” Catalina balled her hands into fists. Had she ever wanted to hit something so badly? “It wouldn’t matter here anyway.”

  “That was my mistake. I told him about Floyd and that nobody in Atlantis would care.” Sam shook her head. “That was when he decided I was a demon sent from hell. I admit it. I was taunting him. I felt grateful for him saving me from the snake, but I’d lost all patience when he tried to make everything my fault. If I’d kept my mouth shut, maybe he’d have learned to cope with it. You could have talked to him. But I was so angry, I kept pushing him. I told him I was the same. That when it came to lovers, I wanted my own sex.”

  The words knocked the air from Catalina’s lungs. Her knees threatened to buckle. Would Sam notice she was having to brace her hands on the wall to stay standing?

  However, Sam showed no sign, wrapped up in her own memories. “That was the last straw for Alonzo. Everything I said had to be part of a trap set by the devil to snare his soul. He thought if he prayed hard enough, everything would go away. He climbed down from the roost, and I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry.” Sam opened the washroom door. “But if that’s all, if you don’t mind, I’m tired and it’s time for sleep. Good night.”

  After Sam left, Catalina stayed where she was, leaning against the wall while her breathing returned to normal. I told him I was the same. That when it came to lovers, I wanted my own sex. Catalina closed her eyes as the shock rolled over her again. With hindsight, everything was so obvious.

  Catalina had always known the form her marriage would take. She would wed whichever nobleman her parents picked for her and bear enough children to satisfy the requirements of inheritance. Then, if her husband had the inclination, he would take a mistress or two, and she would sit with her friends, smiling behind her fan at the handsome young men in court, until she got too old to remember why she was smiling. For romance, she would listen to ballads sung by minstrels. It was what every noblewoman in Spain did. Admittedly, Catalina had not yet felt the desire to smile at handsome men, but she was sure it would come in time.

  She had never wondered whether she wanted to marry the man her parents chose, any more than she had wondered whether she wanted to breathe air. Her path through life was fixed from the day she was born.

  Being shipwrecked on Atlantis had changed everything, or should have. The old path had gone, but Catalina still had not considered what might replace it. Then one sentence, and Sam had gone from being intriguing to scrambling every thought in her head. I told him I was the same. That when it came to lovers, I wanted my own sex.

  Heedless of decorum, Catalina slid down the wall and sat on the floor. So when it came to lovers, what did she want? A silly question, given that she had just been knocked sideways by the answer. She had no experience, no guidance, on how to navigate this new path. What were the way-markers, the milestones, the hurdles?

  One thing Catalina was sure of, though, a false accusation of murder did not make a good starting point.

  * * *

  The map was making more sense. The room descriptions were as cryptic as ever, but after a morning bent over the plinth in the foyer, Catalina had achieved several breakthroughs. One of the most useful was learning how to enter a key code and see which rooms it granted access to. If nothing else, it saved the time and effort of checking doors in person.

  The bad news was that the unknown Greek had been quite junior. Only a small number of rooms were not grayed out, concentrated in one section. Nothing at all was lit up below floor 134, red, yellow, green in color. Had Tydides ever committed his personal code to writing? Surely he would have had greater access, though it was possible no human was trusted to any great degree.

  Catalina rubbed her lower back. A dull ache had been growing for the last hour. Maybe she should take a break. She thought about the alien massage parlor. However, it would be a dangerous experiment. What counted as a soothing rub for an alien might shatter human bones.

  She shrunk the map until she could see one entire floor of the tower. At this scale, no labels were readable, but it did give a depressing view of the magnitude of her task. There were thousands of rooms, each with a cryptic description. She would need months to decode them all, in the hope one might be useful.

  There must be a way to narrow down the search. Catalina folded her arms and considered the entire map. Where was the most likely place to find the docking station codes? It did not help that she had no idea what the purpose of the tower was, or what any section was supposed to do.

  Catalina tapped her way up the tower to the floor with the pit level entrance. The docking station was a small rectangle, barely visible at the end of the walkway. If there was a control room for the Anemoian Bridge, it would make sense if it overlooked the docking station, regardless of whether there was any benefit to be gained by it. Humans would be happier if they could use their own eyes to see what they were supervising. Would aliens be any different?

  Footsteps sounded just as Catalina found what she was hoping for. She looked up to see Sam rounding the corner and quickly looked down again—not that she was able to focus on the map. Catalina’s eyes refused to obey her. Any hope of stringing a coherent thought together vanished. Her entire concentration went into managing her expression, so she did not look like a drooling idiot. Catalina finally understood why ladies at court spent as much time peering over their fans, as they did using them to cool down with.

  They had not exchanged a word that morning. Sam had shown no wish to, and Catalina feared making a complete fool of herself if she tried. The lyrics to various songs taunted her. Once they had seemed ridiculous. She could not imagine feeling so obsessively immature. Now, the words perfectly captured the insanity she was feeling.

  “Any luck?” Floyd asked.

  “Some. How about you?” Did anyone notice her voice wobble?

  “We got these.” Floyd held up a brace of seagulls. “We’re going to rig a barbecue with the blowtorch.”

  Catalina nodded, despite having no idea what either a barbecue or a blowtorch might be.

  Torvold peered over her shoulder. “You say you have found something?”

  “Yes. Here. Commanding the roads of the wind. I think it’s a control room for the flying platforms. It has to be our best chance of finding the return code. But there’s a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Our key code won’t let us in. Whoever it belonged to wasn’t authorized.”

  Floyd joined them at the plinth. “It’s still the best lead we’ve had so far. We’ll check it out after lunch.”

  Catalina risked a glance up and saw Sam standing with her back turned. This should have been a relief—less pressure on maintaining her self-control—but all Catalina felt was disappointment. Why did things have to be so awkward? Would the others think it odd if she made herself a fan?

  * * *

  Catalina would not have believed how good burned seagull could taste. A caretaker showed up with a fire douser when an alarm went off, but this was not until the cooking was finished. The door swished closed after it left.

  Catalina nibbled the last meat from a drumstick. She spotted something lying in the corner, Sam’s crumpled pyramid from the evening before. “The caretaker didn’t clear away the rubbish.” She pointed using the bone.

  “They must be more tolerant of humans. They don’t need to remove any trace of us.” Floyd said. “It didn’t try to dismantle my barbeque either.”


  “I’m not taking the chance with Freydis.” Torvold had his axe propped against the wall beside him.

  The caretaker had also shown no interest in the seagull remains. The pile of bones and feathers lay on the end of the table. Did this mean they would not treat babies as vermin? It would be good news, as long as they mastered the flying platforms. The disadvantage was they had to clean up their own mess from lunch.

  On reaching the corridor outside the control room, Catalina tapped in the key code. As expected, it had no effect. Floyd passed the AK-47 to Sam and picked at the edges of the door experimentally with his knife. “If we could get our hands on one of those explosive charges, I bet we could take this off.”

  “If the key code won’t get us into the control room, I doubt it will open the armory or wherever it is they’re kept,” Sam said.

  “True.” Floyd stepped back. “Let’s check the rooms on either side.”

  They had to go four doors right before they reached one the key code opened. This room had a bench up the middle and a row of tall lockers on opposite walls. Floyd pulled out a strange blue garment. It looked as if a long sleeve shirt and a full-length pair of breeches had been joined into a single item of clothing.

  “A boiler suit. Could be useful. Our supply of clothes is getting threadbare. Before long we’ll all be running around buck naked.” He smiled and put the suit back.

  Catalina tried hard not to think about what Sam might look like in the nude. To distract herself, she went to the window. The glass was free from imperfections, but as seen before, it gave a purple tinge to the world outside. The deck of the docking station was one floor below, the perfect height for a clear view of any activity.

  “Does it open?”

  Catalina flinched at the sound of Sam’s voice by her elbow. “I don’t know. I can’t see a latch.”

  The window covered the entire side of the room and was made from a single pane. There was no frame holding it secure, rather the glass attached seamlessly to the floor, ceiling, and walls.

  Floyd joined them. “It looks fixed to me. Cat, you can’t see something like, Push here to open, can you?”

  “No. The only sign is the room description, Exchanging clothes for team B.” Catalina left the window and started opening the lockers. Maybe someone had scratched their key code inside.

  She was halfway along when Sam said, “I’ve got it.”

  “What?”

  Sam indicated the AK-47 she still had on her shoulder. “I’ll go to the deck on the docking station and shoot out the window. The caretaker didn’t want us to set the place on fire, and I bet they won’t ignore broken glass. If the rest of you wait in the corridor, you can follow it in when it comes to do the repair.”

  Catalina was unconvinced. “Will it let us?”

  “Don’t see how it can stop us.” Torvold hefted his axe.

  Floyd shrugged. “I say it’s worth a try. Do you want me to go, Sammy?”

  “I think I can hit a window this big at close range.”

  “Take Gerard’s binoculars, to make sure you aim at the right one. They might help see through the tinted glass.”

  “I’ll go with her.” Catalina spoke before she had time to think. “An extra pair of hands.”

  Sam shrugged. “All right.”

  They walked through the corridors without saying a word, while Catalina tried to think of something to say, something trivial and safe. Nothing came to mind.

  “Do you mind Floyd calling you Cat?” Sam broke the silence.

  “No. He shortens everyone’s name, though I guess he can’t do much to yours.”

  “He lengthens it and calls me Sammy.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “No. But some people get funny about their name. That’s why I asked.”

  “We should start calling him Flo.” She hesitated. “You can call me Cat, if you want.”

  “You can call me Sammy, if you don’t mind taking the extra time over it.”

  Sam smiled and Catalina’s stomach flipped, as if she were in an elevator. She concentrated on walking in a straight line. It had been less difficult facing down a ship full of pirates. The last door opened, and they emerged into daylight with the docking station straight ahead.

  From the deck, using just her eyes, the dark glass completely blocked sight of what lay inside. However, through the binoculars, Catalina was able to make out the faintest details. She identified the lockers in the room they had just left. Four windows along, the control room had something like a desk against the window, and possibly a wall display at the side with the occasional blinking light.

  “That’s the one.”

  Sam rested her elbows on the guardrail around a flying platform. Catalina studied her face as she rested her cheek against the stock of the AK-47. Sam’s lips were slightly apart, her expression calm, purposeful, serious. Catalina felt in danger of gawking but could not drag her eyes away.

  Sam gently squeezed the trigger. A blast like thunder made Catalina jump. Echoes bounced around the walls of the pit.

  “We’ll see if that does it.” Sam adjusted something on the side of the rifle and rested the barrel on the railing.

  The control room window had not broken completely, but now a spider web of cracks radiated out from the middle. Catalina trained the binoculars, hoping to catch sight of the door opening. “How long before a caretaker arrives, do you think?”

  “It came pretty quickly when the smoke alarm went off. I doubt we’ll have to—Oh damn.”

  “What?” Catalina lowered the binoculars. “What is it?”

  “There.” A caretaker was scuttling up the wall, looking even more like a giant spider than normal. “I didn’t think about them doing repairs from the outside.”

  The caretaker dissolved the fractured region. Without the glass, it was much easier to look inside. The wall display was clearly a map of Atlantis, but Catalina could not make out any writing, even through the binoculars. The caretaker began filling the hole with new glass, working from the outside in, for all the world like a spider spinning a web. Once its task was complete, it dropped down the wall and vanished back inside.

  “I guess we should go give the others the bad news,” Catalina said. “Unless you have any more ideas.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” Sam held out the AK-47 “Have you fired this before?”

  “No, but it doesn’t look hard.”

  “It isn’t. See. This is the safety catch. Leave it like this at all times, except right before you shoot.”

  “Me? Why can’t you?”

  “Because I’m going to be over there.” Sam nodded at the window.

  “What?”

  “When the caretaker removes the damaged section, I’ll climb in and open the door for Floyd and Torvold.”

  “How? What will you hold on to? Supposing you fall.”

  “I won’t. Remember, I’m more ape than human.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I’ve been called worse things. The ladder goes nearby, and I’ve got this rope from the Barn.” Sam was wearing the coil diagonally across her body. Light shimmered over it, as if it was made from liquid metal.

  “Rope? It’s more like string. It won’t take your weight.”

  “It’ll take you, me, Torvold, and even Horatio, all together. I’ve no idea what it’s made of, but it’s unbreakable.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “I’ve been called that before too.” Sam placed the rifle in Catalina’s hands. “Push the safety lever down as far as it will go. This is the front sight and this is the back. You line them up with the window and squeeze the trigger. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I need to—”

  “You’ll be fine. Wait until I wave. And try not to shoot me.”

  “I…” She got no further. Sam was gone, leaping down the stairs three at a time.

  Catalina watched her dash across the walkway and scramble partway up the ladder to the roof. Sam stopped at a point well ab
ove the window height and tied her rope to a rung. Catalina had no idea how she managed it, dangling one-handed. Just looking made Catalina’s mouth go dry and her hands shake. A fall would be fatal. Catalina did not know if she would ever summon the courage to say half the things to Sam that were running through her head, but how would she cope if she never had the chance?

  Sam dropped back down to control room level, then twisted around and waved.

  Catalina drew a deep breath. She did her best to copy Sam’s pose. Lining up the sights turned out to be not quite as easy as she had expected. She squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened—of course, the safety catch. Catalina pushed it down and tried again.

  If the gun had sounded like a crack of thunder when Sam fired, this was a cannonade. A dozen explosions, each one following so quickly the blasts merged into a continuous roar. Every bang slammed the butt back painfully into her shoulder.

  Catalina released the trigger and the explosions stopped, although all she could hear was the sound of ringing. She had hit not only the control room window, but also the one above, and the one above that. Sam was still in place on the ladder. Her shoulders were shaking, clearly from laughter rather than fear.

  A caretaker arrived. Sam waited until the cracked glass was gone and the caretaker was working on the section farthest from her. To Catalina’s horror, she saw Sam was no longer holding on to the ladder, but instead had both feet braced against the wall. With a kick, Sam launched herself sideways, swinging first away from the control room and then back. Another kick, and Sam twisted around the edge of the hole and dropped into the room. She made it look so easy.

  Catalina was gripping the rifle so hard her hands ached. It took an effort of willpower to pry her fingers loose and return Sam’s cheery wave. She waited just long enough to see Sam let in Floyd and Torvold, then she slowly and carefully made her way to join them. With luck, her hands would stop shaking by the time she got there.

  Torvold opened the door when she knocked. “Come in, champion gun shooter. Sam is telling us of your newfound skill.”