Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

  Sam stopped talking.

  For the space of several heartbeats they stayed, locked in position, then both Sam’s arms enfolded Catalina, holding her close. She leaned into Sam, feeling hard muscle and soft, warm flesh mold against her. Her body was energized, as if summer lightning pulsed through her veins to the beat of her heart, and at the same time, she was swept away on a wave of peace, bone-deep and older than the stars.

  Catalina raised her head and looked up. Sam’s eyes were closed, her face was getting closer, her mouth slightly parted. Catalina closed her own eyes as their lips met. The effect of the kiss flowed through her, melting her body. Sam’s mouth against hers was like nothing she had ever known, or imagined.

  “Hey, cool.”

  They sprung apart. Madison was passing by.

  “Oh, don’t mind me. Didn’t mean to disturb you guys. Sorry.”

  With a dismissive wave, Madison trotted away down the path. Catalina watched her disappear, then turned back to discover she was alone. Sam had also vanished into the night.

  Catalina buried her face in her hands. How quickly you could go from elation to misery. But she had her answer. She had caught Sam by surprise, forced herself on an unwilling target, and made worse than a fool of herself. I told him I was the same as him. That when it came to lovers, I wanted my own sex. But that did not mean Sam wanted her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Floor 464 was the same as Sam remembered, the reduced lighting and dimpled green floor, the acrid scent on the air. She strained her ears for a distant roar, or the pounding of heavy feet, but there was only the whisper of air through the grates. She could feel her heartbeat hammering in her chest, and her palms got sweaty.

  “Ready?” As the castaway with the most combat experience, Floyd had been put in the role of captain. Both Sam and Yaraha nodded. “Ear protectors on.”

  Sam adjusted the muffs over her ears and flicked up the switch on the side. All sound vanished.

  “Here we go.” She had to read Floyd’s lips.

  He squeezed the trigger on the AK-47. Sam saw the gun recoil, but the shot was just a faint pop through the muffs. She pushed them slightly off her ears to catch the echoes fading away until they were lost in the desolate miles of corridor.

  Floyd positioned the safety lever on his rifle at the middle setting, for fully automatic fire, then settled the stock back against his shoulder.

  Now Sam heard it, closer than she expected. The booming roar assaulted her ears, as the Minotaur appeared around a corner. It brandished the four axes and bellowed again, before lowering its shoulders to charge. Sam quickly replaced the muffs over her ears, just as Floyd and Yaraha began firing.

  The Minotaur lurched to a halt, half stumbling. Its head was knocked back and its body shook with each impact, but it did not fall. The earmuffs muted the rattle of the guns, but did nothing to stop Sam’s insides from vibrating from the sound. The explosive volley went on and on, surely far longer than the twenty seconds Floyd had estimated. But eventually, both AK-47s fell silent. Sam pulled the earmuffs from her head.

  The Minotaur shook itself and straightened. The only visible sign of the barrage was its loincloth, which was now ragged and hanging askew on its hips. It raised one foot and thumped it down on the ground, hard, and then the other. It shook itself like a wet dog, as if to clear its head and flex its muscles. The first foot moved again. The Minotaur was moving, advancing, building up speed again for the charge.

  “Sam, hit it.”

  Sam punched the color code into the floor selector. The doors whooshed closed, and the elevator started its ascent. Furious roars and the clang of axe blows followed them all the way up.

  Floyd blew out his cheeks. “Ugly brute, wasn’t it? Didn’t seem to mind the bullets. We’ll have to come up with something else. Guns aren’t the answer.”

  Yaraha nodded. “I hadn’t thought they would be.”

  * * *

  No matter how many times she walked into the Barn, the scale never ceased to awe Sam. The ceiling stretched away into the distance, curving to follow the line of the island. It was difficult to pull her eyes away. Not that she was trying very hard.

  The night before, suddenly, out of nowhere, she and Catalina had kissed. Or Sam thought they had. In her memory it seemed far too dreamlike to be true. She could ask Madison for confirmation, if she could work out how to get to the question without sounding like a fool. Or she could talk to Catalina. Except the thought of doing that made Sam’s knees turn to water and her lungs try to work backward.

  Sam clenched her fists. This was stupid. She was going to have to talk to Catalina, and would do so, just as soon as she sorted out the muddle in her head and heart. Then she could find out what Catalina was wanting, and expecting, from her—which was when the real awkwardness took over. Something very close to panic swept through her.

  Sam’s knees cracked into something hard. The Barn was too cluttered not to watch where she was going. Sam looked down, and there was Catalina, off to the side, hunched over the table and totally ignoring her and the other castaways. The panic dissolved in a swamp of disappointment, but it could return in an instant. All it would take was for Catalina to turn around.

  “There has to be something in here that will help us.” Floyd claimed everyone’s attention.

  At the sound of his voice, Catalina raised her head. Sam immediately focused on Floyd.

  “What sort of thing are we looking for?” Babs asked.

  “Use your imagination.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No. I mean that. We’ve just proved guns are useless, except for getting its attention. So think of something less obvious.”

  “Okay.” Babs stopped by of a rack of shelves. “Do you think we can buy it off with Jorge’s treasure?”

  “Hey. That’s mine and not for giving away to monsters.” Neither Babs nor Jorge were being serious.

  Floyd shook his head, smiling. “Okay, kiddies, separate. And like I said, use your imagination.” He waved them away.

  Babs and Jorge headed in one direction, while Horatio and Torvold went in another. Sam stayed close to Floyd, getting just far enough from Catalina’s table so she could sneak occasional peeks, without being too obvious.

  Floyd was playing with the mechanical arm. “If there was a way to get this to the tower, do you reckon it would be strong enough to hold the Minotaur?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it would be quick enough to catch him.”

  “True.” He put down the control glove and moved on. “We could do with hand grenades.”

  “What are they?”

  “Explosives, like gunpowder, but you throw them. The Greeks had something they call apples of destruction, which sounds close.” Floyd sighed. “Though there’s no guarantee they’ll work. The bullets didn’t even graze its skin.”

  Sam stood where she could peer around the screen for the drain. Catalina had her head bent over her books. They had kissed, and they were going to have to talk about it. Maybe after she and Floyd finished in the Barn. Or a bit later. Sam’s mouth grew dry and she swallowed. Tomorrow might work.

  She sighed and ran her hand though her hair. For now, she needed to concentrate on her task. The rack of swords caught Sam’s eye, eight in total. Was sharp the right word to describe them? In Yaraha’s demonstration, it was as if they melted a line through whatever the edge touched rather than cut. Sam picked one up.

  The weight was well balanced, and the grip was firm. The blade had been crafted to look and feel like a falchion, although it was not made of iron or steel, of that Sam was sure. The blade shimmered, not as sunlight on metal, but like heat rising off baked sand. It seemed alive, as did two more. However, the five other swords were dull and inert.

  “What have you found, Sam?” Floyd called from the other side of the screen.

  “These falchions.”

  “The whats?”

  “This.” Sam held up the sword, then tugged a rusty iron rod free from a pile
of scrap metal. It was heavy in her hand, a foot long and three inches in diameter.

  “Oh, them. I’m not sure if—”

  “Stand back a moment.” Sam waved him aside. She pulled back the falchion, then threw the rod high in the air, and sliced at it as it fell. The rod landed on the ground in two pieces. If it had been deflected in its path, Sam had not been able to spot it. “If that can’t take a Minotaur’s head off, I don’t know what will.”

  “Yes. I’d thought of the swords. Trouble is, you’d have to get inside hitting range. And you’ll only have one blade to go at it, while the Minotaur will have four axes to return the favor.”

  “There’s more than one sword here.”

  Horatio wandered over. “How many people have the training to use a sword? I mean, I do, as a naval officer, but who else?”

  “I’ve been practicing since I went to sea. Nothing formal, but I think I’m all right with one,” Sam said.

  “So it would be me and you then. I suppose we could have a cutlass each, and the others could distract the Minotaur’s attention. Then—”

  “Hang on there,” Floyd interrupted. “Are you saying you don’t think I could handle one of these swords?”

  “Do you have any experience?”

  “How much do I need?”

  “Years,” Sam and Horatio answered together.

  Floyd measured up to Horatio and flexed his arm muscles so that even the bulges had bulges. “You’re saying you think I couldn’t beat you?”

  “I’m saying you couldn’t beat either of us, me or Sam.”

  “We’ll put it to a test.” Sam handed the lethal falchion to Horatio, before things got out of hand.

  On her tour with Yaraha, she had noticed a box of blunt practice swords and padding. She returned and passed one set to Floyd, then slipped on the quilted jacket and helmet.

  Grinning, Floyd waved his sword experimentally, testing the weight. “You seriously think you can beat me? You may be a tough cookie, but…” He flexed his muscles again.

  “If you’d spent as much time training as I have, no, I wouldn’t stand a chance. As it is…” Sam shrugged rather than finish the sentence. “So come on.”

  In fact, Floyd nearly made the first hit, because Sam was left dumbstruck by his ham-fisted attack. Floyd swung the sword high over his shoulder and brought it down with an audible shish. Sam deflected it at the last moment, letting her wrist twist so Floyd’s sword missed her without losing momentum. The force of his own wild swipe pulled him off balance and Sam tapped her sword on the back of his helmet.

  “You’re dead.”

  Floyd frowned and stepped back. “Okay. Try again.” He hoisted his sword for another bludgeoning overhead. This time, Sam did not wait and stabbed at his armpit as soon as his body was exposed.

  “You’re dead.”

  His third and fourth attacks met the same result.

  “You’re dead.”

  Floyd’s expression hardened behind the grill on his helmet. The smile was gone. He launched a frenzied onslaught that continued unabated even as Sam tapped out the hits. “You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, and you’re dead.”

  The last inept slash left him again off balance and facing away from her. Rather than let the pointless exercise continue, Sam knocked his legs from under him so he landed on his back and touched the tip of her sword to his throat.

  “Do you want me to say it again?”

  Floyd’s face was set in a dogged grimace, but then it faded. “Okay. I get it. You win.” He chuckled and rolled away.

  Horatio spoke up. “And that’s without Sam pointing out if you’d had one of the alien cutlasses, there were at least three occasions when you’d have jolly well cut your own leg off.”

  Floyd sat on the ground, with the practice sword balanced across his knees. “So it’s just you two with the swords then? The rest of us are distractions. You’re happy with that?”

  “Happier than I would be fighting the wretched brute with you beside me, waving a cutlass around like a wild thing. You could take someone’s head off. Well, we’re rather hoping to do that to the Minotaur, but you know what I mean.”

  Sam tugged off her helmet and shook her hair out. It was getting longer than she was used to. She offered a hand to help Floyd to his feet. “I’m happy with it too.”

  Catalina had left her books. “You can’t. It would be insane.”

  “It’s an idea to play with. Nothing more at the moment,” Floyd said. “We need to work out how Sam and Horatio can get close enough to hit the thing without losing their own limbs. And until we’ve sorted that out, we don’t have a battle plan.”

  Catalina glared at everyone except for Sam, who she pointedly ignored. “Give me that.” She snatched the falchion from Horatio and picked at the handle. A flap sprung open. She flipped something inside and the blade became inert, like the dead swords on the rack. “If you’re going to walk around with them, you should put them in safe mode.”

  “Good grief. How did you know to do that?” Horatio said.

  “I read about it in a book.”

  Catalina flounced away, still without looking in Sam’s direction. She was angry. That much was obvious. Maybe even furious, and it probably was to do with them kissing. Sam bit her lip. But was it because she ran away afterward, or because they kissed in the first place? They had to talk, and tomorrow was not an option. Sam knew she had to work out what to say and do. And work it out quickly. She needed to think. After returning the practice swords and armor to the box, Sam left the Barn.

  * * *

  The view was not the only thing Sam liked about sitting on the deck of the docking station. Even on the most humid of days, a fresh breeze blew, and it was far enough up so the scent of alien flowers did not overwhelm that of the sea. Sam drew in a deep breath. Normally, it calmed her thoughts, allowing her to sort what was important, but not right now.

  Sam pressed her fingers against her mouth. Her lips felt strange, almost as if they were developing a mind of their own and hatching plans to betray her. How would she keep them under control? Those lips had kissed Catalina, and the memory both thrilled and terrified her. She was going to have to talk to Catalina, and maybe even kiss her again, but first they had to talk.

  In part it was easy. She needed to apologize for running away and try to explain how, after years of living a disguise, she had been caught off guard and had reacted without thinking. She had spent too long clamping down on her emotions. Her brains had been scrambled when she realized what she was doing.

  But what was Catalina thinking, feeling? Sam was certain anger was part of it. Might disgust and outrage also be there? Sam dug into her memory. Who had moved first? Sam thought it was Catalina, but she was not sure. Had she grabbed Catalina without invitation or encouragement? In which case she had a lot more to apologize for.

  The last bit was the most awkward. If Catalina had moved first, was it simple curiosity, a spur-of-the-moment, never to be repeated mistake, or was she serious? And how on earth to phrase the questions to find out? Sam needed to work out the answers quickly, because the longer she delayed, the more apologizing she would have to do.

  Sam heard footsteps on the steps. Someone was coming to ride a flying platform. She did not turn to see who, in case it was Catalina. Despite the need to talk, she wanted a little while longer, to get her thoughts in order—or was it to build up her nerve?

  The new arrival stopped. Sam waited for whoever it was to get in a platform and leave, but instead when the footsteps resumed, they came toward where she was sitting. The sound was soft, as if the person was tiptoeing. A sixth sense sent prickles down Sam’s spine. She twisted away from the edge, rising to her knees in the same motion.

  “Hey. I was going to say boo. See if you jumped.” A teasing smile lit Jorge’s face. Had Sam seen another emotion first? Something gone before she could place it?

  “You were thinking I might fall in?”

  “No. Of course not. Oth
erwise I would not have done it.”

  The smile was still in place, but all was not right with Jorge. Sam could feel it. She got to her feet and moved farther from the edge. He had a plan in mind. Was he going to try to kiss her? He definitely carried some intention toward her.

  Jorge stood by the edge, in the same spot where Sam had been sitting. He put a fist on his hip, then pointed at the water. “Hey! Look there.”

  Sam did not move. Something was off with Jorge, and she was fairly sure it had nothing to do with a misplaced romantic impulse.

  Jorge sighed. “You’re not going to come and look?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll do it this way.” He pulled a knife from under his shirt.

  “Jorge!”

  “I’m sorry. But you have to understand. I promised to look out for my little brother.”

  “What?”

  “He’s set on throwing away his life so his woman will get a place on the plane. I must make sure there’ll be enough space for him. Me too, of course, although that truly is a lesser worry.”

  Sam was struck by an idea. “It wasn’t hunters who got Charles and Piracola. You killed them.”

  “But of course.”

  “You murdered them.”

  “If you want to look at it that way.”

  What other way was there? “Piracola was your friend.”

  “But Rico is my brother. I promised our mother, on her deathbed, I would always look out for him.” Jorge was circling right, cutting her off from the stairs, trying to back her toward the edge. “I really am sorry, but I have no choice.”

  He genuinely did look regretful, but Sam was unconvinced. From the way he handled the knife, he was experienced in its use as a weapon. Jorge had killed before ever setting foot on Atlantis.

  Sam needed to move while she had a chance. She took three dancing steps to one side and then darted back. The sudden switch in direction was almost quick enough for her to weave past him, but Jorge caught her ankle with a glancing kick. Sam fell but rolled back up to her feet. Jorge moved to again cut her off from the stairs. He slashed with the knife, forcing her to retreat, forcing her closer to the edge.