Broken Wing: A million deaths were not enough for Cassandra!

by Konig, Artor

  “That Eddie.” He replied, “No sense and all secrecy. Bah, I’ll have to have a word with him. Anyway he’s been miffed ever since your license rated a hundred to his seventy-four. Well done to you as well.” He told me as we ambled down the path in the blue shadows of a red, orange sunset, “The fellow who’s coming to have a look at you tomorrow; he’s Doctor Roger Tregont, a young friend of mine; he’s a funny chap though; you’ll have to be careful about how seriously you take him.”

  Doctor Tregont, it seemed, was also a very accomplished young man; he had a whole string of degrees, one in nuclear physics and a second in aeronautical engineering. His latest published thesis was in music; he seemed to be a fair all-rounder. This, Colonel Wynters assured me as we stood at the dividing paths at the top of the valley, was just so; the Doctor had a thumb in every field of which he knew and he had some rum ideas about how the whole scenario worked.

  “He’s a romantic in a big way; a very grim sort as well. Out to save the world and all that balderdash. But in his less serious moments he’s a pleasant young fellow in all.”

  If anything, the meeting left me more flustered than before; now I knew what to expect but not how to deal with it. How does one deal with jealousy, scheming and brilliant, erratic minds? I plodded homewards after saying farewell to Colonel Wynters, lost in deep thought and deeper darkness. And the wind was cold.

  I peer around me at the darkness on the ledge of Black Crag, soulfully bereaved by the memories, remembering the blood and the slime; gazing out over the sombre spread of the southern reaches. Colonel Wynters’ somewhat terse assessment of the Doctor fell far, far short of the truth, nowhere near what I had found out for myself during my days of association with the man. For he was a brilliant man, brilliant to the point of being too large for his earth, too wide for the seven seas, at home only in the perfect and pitiless expanses of the void. However the images which come to me now, when I call his face to mind, are the last ones; the man broken, the screaming mess of a brilliant mind that could cope no more and those memories are so fresh that I cannot suppress a shudder. Or maybe the chill of Black Crag is getting even to me.

  Wednesday morning found me lost in a heap of letters; I was reviewing my road ahead against the likely chance that Edward’s mysterious Doctor would prove to be a blank alley. I had more than twenty-three definite posts to consider as well as many other courses, most of them with scholarships pasted on. How little that means now! I felt that the Doctor simply was a few years ahead of me. Having never met the fellow I could not be sure but it was there, surrounded by post-breakfast clutter, that my unease, that dim feeling of other wrong, first allowed itself to be clearly sensed.

  It was a feeling that something unreckoned on had come into the picture, something which could only be met by the unexpected on my part. I suddenly knew, helplessly futile though such knowing was, that I was no longer in control. There was something unknown but colossally huge, something that I could not meet on my own terms, something I could not legislate against or compensate for. A wave of chaos that I could only hope to ride, clinging all the while to that slender self-awareness that made me something I still understood.

  The torment of such a knowing was finite, however large, and I knew that there was only one course to follow. That course had to be the selfless course. However, of the twenty-four odd courses presented to me, which would it be? I was well-prepared to meet most eventualities I realised; just as well as I knew this to be nothing with which I could deal. All the posts offered to me offered some self-improvement at some level. What was my weakness that left me with such a sense of futility in the face of this unknown?

  The unknown; I suddenly knew that the unknowable mystery was the key to my dilemma. All the posts that had been offered gave me clearly defined progressions in known directions; all aviation-related -all but one. Dr. Tregont was a physicist, a musician, a romantically-minded genius who was educating himself as broadly as he could to face the unknown; knowing full well how the unknown would be; a negative image painstakingly constructed in the framework of the known. He had a clear idea of what he was facing up to.

  My curiosity was of course now fully inflamed by this enigmatic figure who saw symphonic polyphony from the perspective of nuclear resonances. Someone who saw the sun for what it was; a cosmic catastrophe justified by its magnificence with life as a minor and inevitable; and not always palatable by-product; then the stars themselves, each a disaster mitigated by the millions that had occurred and were still happening.

  I felt a crawling on my scalp, a tremble in my ears, the shudder of blood gone cold. Thought of the man had led me to the core of another problem even as it had decided for me the only possible solution to my rudderless wanderings. Like a ship steadied under deliberate hands and firm breezes, I felt my horizon settle, the eye firmly in front, the wind firmly behind.

  I felt my ring tighten in response to my thoughts as the sun edged further into a lambent sky.

  The ‘phone shrilled in the hall and my mother dashed off to answer it, as she always did. My father grunted behind his defensively arrayed paper as her voice drifted back.

  “Edward? Of course dear, I’ll call, oh well if you say so; I’ll speak to her at once.” I studied this clear little fragment of conversation drifting to me from the hall where the telephone had been situated. That moment comes back to me so painfully clearly; the tableau of cluttered dishes, the brilliant clarity of every sound so harsh in contrast with the dullness that was the best that day would promise. The muscles at the base of my back and along my thighs had already tensed and I had half-risen from my place when I became aware of my father’s eyes on me. So seldom had I received a direct glance from him at the breakfast table that I sank back at once.

  “Cassandra my girl, I want you to be very cautious today.” He said gruffly, “Don’t commit yourself to anything until you’ve spoken to me. This young Tregont fellow; I had a word with Wynters about the whole set-up. He strikes me as a rum sort of cove. So don’t get involved in anything rash. Promise me, love.” He held my eyes while a gamut of tangled emotions rose up in my mind.

  It was then, almost for the first time, that I realised my father actually did care about me and tears pricked in my eyes. The rather shallow resentment that he seemed to be meddling in my affairs was almost at once swamped; but it left a bitter taste behind. Almost as I nodded my acquiescence, my mother scurried back into the room, bustling and important.

  “That was Eddie; he says that he is on his way to fetch you so you must get ready at once, Cassandra. He is such a thoughtful boy; after all it isn’t really a long walk. However the weather now; it’s become so black all of a sudden.” I was quite well aware that my mother would have gone on indefinitely and was well-inured to the fact. My father clicked impatiently, folding the paper laboriously to expose the middle page to his perusal. He hammered out the paper, knocked over the toast and scowled at the tray, effectively ending the conversation. My mother looked at him in fond exasperation as I scampered out of the room.

  I look up, seeing the high walls; the higher drifting clouds, the highest and infinite points of poignant light so fleetingly exposed. The crag was in darkness, empty. It was empty and terribly exposed. It was on that Wednesday morning that I first had this feeling of watchful, malicious eyes. I blink back the betraying moisture, knowing now that my father had been wrong. Perfectly right and common-sensical; that I avoid trouble. However this trouble was not of the avoidable kind. That black wave would have reached me wherever I had chosen to hide. With Dr. Tregont I at least have the knowledge that I had met the tide on my feet, with clear eyes and mind and we stopped it far out in that merciless void. I see now that the appalling scourge was destined to cross my path either with everybody else or alone. I had that choice; to act in this small, damned company and have an effect, or to hide in the masses and be powerless. That was the essence of my choice; to be alone and real, or hidden in the masses and ineffectual. I stare up at the sta
rs. If I had looked on that Wednesday night would I have seen those tiny but menacing points of light? There is nothing showing now, nothing at all.

  Eddie was depressingly punctual, disarmingly charming and infuriatingly patient as I tried to de-fluster myself at his sudden summons and prompt appearance. He may have done just that with clear aforethought; but he was so friendly and helpful that I could not rankle at him. In addition I was afraid to alienate him with some thoughtless word, painfully afraid. He had properly unsettled me; whether intentionally or not I do not know but it would have taken a very long time for him to think up a better stratagem to have me falling over my feet to please him. The darker and wetter the louring morning became the brighter and more charming he appeared.

  “Just take the licence and school certificate.” He chided me, “I’m sure the good Doctor isn’t interested in knowing about all those jobs everybody is offering you.” He divested me of most of the papers I was clutching to my chest, extracted the two he had specified and dumped the rest carefully back into the drawer I had taken them from. I glanced around my room, sure that I had forgotten something, pounding my thighs gently with my balled fists. Eddie grasped my hands and snatched a kiss before I knew what he was trying to do. He turned away, leading me out of the room, my mind in more confusion than ever before.

  I followed him meekly enough, suddenly struck by the ridiculous thought that he was far too short to kiss me comfortably. A flash of lightning was swiftly followed by uproarious celestial laughter as I took leave of my parents solemnly; as if I was leaving them forever, longer; as if I was embarking on some journey into the pitiless expanses of netherdom. Eddie’s comfortable sedan was parked right in front of the door but even with an umbrella we didn’t remain dry on that short dash down to the gravelled driveway.

  “Bit of a downpour.” Eddie mused, “But your hair’s not too wet.”

  I was silent, still struggling with too many upsets to frame a suitably pleasant reply. I watched him as he started up the vehicle. He pulled off slowly and smoothly, peering through the rain-dense windscreen as the wipers flailed and complained. He glanced at me, smiling briefly before turning back to the road ahead.

  “What’s this Doctor like, Eddie?” I asked briefly.

  “Smashing chap, he’s full of ideas like a party of professors. Damn good pilot as well though he prefers to let other people do his flying for him. He’s about five years older than I am but he has certainly done something with his time. That’s about twelve years older than you.” He glanced at me.

  “So he’s a flying physicist who wants a chauffeuse.” I asked him, “So he can let off his atom bombs without being disturbed.”

  “Not really. I don’t know what his angle is but it certainly doesn’t involve weapons of mass-destruction, though he can and has made them. In fact that’s the only way I know of to irritate him; mentioning atom bombs. Apparently he discovered some murky sort of ray while he was at the Institute and that sent him off on some tangent that he’s been following up ever since. He packed up on his job and set up on his own.”

  “That sounds like a pricy sort of gamble.” I mused, almost to myself. Eddie concentrated on changing gears and negotiating a rather treacherous rain-soaked bend before he cast a quizzical glance at me.

  “What’s wrong with that? Have you gone off gambling all of a sudden?” He asked, a slight grin on his freckled face.

  I laughed rather shortly. Eddie had spent a good few weeks trying to entice me into various gambling dens, all to no avail. It simply had never interested me. Foolish things like money and other human-made intangibles just didn’t interest me.

  “Tregont is a very self-secure sort of fellow; it’s difficult to floor him on almost any point. He seems to have all the answers.” Eddie went on, not trying to bait me any further, “Nonetheless he does seem to be worried about something. He’s never asked the old man for help before, for a start. He hasn’t let on about whatever is on his mind but he was very definite about the help he wants. He wants the very best pilots money can buy, specifically experienced, young and open-minded pilots. He was not even sure there was such a thing but I knew otherwise.” He glanced at me again, almost shyly. “We put together a list for him, the top one hundred pilots in the country, with all their details. Not in order of merit; we placed them alphabetically so you weren’t at the top of the list; but he picked your name out quickly enough; he seemed to be looking for the very best. He certainly had his eye out for Reid: Cassandra Samantha. It didn’t take him long to pick a good twenty of you and send out invitations. He figured that since he was in the area he’d have a word with you about what he’s brewing. He hasn’t even told us yet. And,” Eddie broke off, turning up the long wooded driveway of the old Manor house, “I’ll bet guineas to farthings he won’t give you the entire picture yet; not the bit that is actually bugging him.”

  The sleek car slid smoothly into an open garage, out of the gloomy weather. James the footman darted up to open the door for me, while Eddie shut his car door and walked briskly around to the hall door on the far side of the vast garage. The huge house seemed even colder and grimmer than ever, even with the warm drapes; and there were fires in almost every hearth I passed.

  “And how’s the pilot of the family?” Boomed Colonel Wynters as he took my hand and presented his cheek to be pecked. I shook hands warmly with him but I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable in my jeans and jersey. Both the Colonel and the glowering young fellow behind him were formally dressed; Eddie and I looked like tramps I’m sure; though Eddie insisted that such matters were largely neglected in the hall.

  I turned to Dr. Tregont as he was presented to me, attempting to sum up the man as I am sure he was summing me up. His handshake was dry and firm, the strength of his curiously small hands kept politely in check. His eyes were dark with a fanatical fire in their brooding depth; intelligent and perceptive. I felt conscious of my unusual height as he looked up at me; he was a good six inches shorter than I.

  “I’ve found someone to look up to at last.” He noted sardonically, seeming to be vaguely humoured by what must have been a novel experience. His hair and beard were black, slightly long and well-groomed.

  The suit he was wearing fitted him perfectly, giving discreet hints about the supple and powerful body that it hid. He was a panther of a man, no-one to be crossed. I was conscious of Eddie looking at me curiously but I could frame no reply. My nerves were still unsettled and Dr. Tregont was a distinctly disturbing person. The Colonel, sensing my unease, led us away to the library where a pot of tea was steaming before the roaring fire.

  “I read the test report on your licensing flight.” Dr. Tregont told me bluntly, “Why were you showing off in such a dangerous and ridiculous fashion?” The words nettled.

  “Pardon me Doctor, I wasn’t showing off since all the test programmes are pre-drawn and none of the manoeuvres executed are not specified in the manual. I was responsible for servicing the craft before and after the flight; so I knew full well the performance limits I could work within. If the flight inspector hasn’t the nerve for the job, he should find more commodious employment.” I didn’t quite say that I was sick of being taken for a cripple by pathetic men smaller than myself; but maybe a hint of such a sentiment tinged my voice; for the good Doctor smiled.

  It was a smile of genuine warmth, with the beginnings of some sort of admiration. It was as if the sun had conquered the dull, beleaguering clouds, as if a sudden symphony had graced the dour library. “Good.” He said; but he didn’t amplify the sentiment.

  The Colonel and Eddie kept up the conversation from that point, for the Doctor was clearly elsewhere and I was still flustered from the warring emotions that had robbed me of that morning’s slight stability. The tea in my cup gradually went cold as I looked from one face to the next, wondering why I could not get a grip on myself. I finally broke into the conversation again, timid but determined. “I feel that there is something grim on the way; I cannot explain
why. This feeling is as if some wave of chaos was hurtling towards us.” I was looking at the Doctor as I spoke but he didn’t answer. He looked up, his eye shying away from my own.

  “Why do you think that, Cassandra old butterfly?” Eddie enquired.

  “The weather is enough to make one suppose that.” The Colonel agreed amiably.

  “I’ve had this feeling for a couple of days.” I replied, somewhat disturbed by the thoughts I was putting into voice. “There is definitely something out there,” I waved one hand aloft in more-or-less the direction of the window, “As if there was a rock or a bomb on its way, or a tidal wave, or some such disaster we could only brace ourselves for.” I looked around me again, this time seeing the speculative look the Doctor was resting on me.

  I know my words must have seemed trite to him; they seem extremely trite to me now; but it was disturbing to receive so little reaction especially since I was beginning to realise that the Doctor knew I was right. Nevertheless he obviously had his own agenda. I met his glance with as much equanimity as I could muster but I could not hold his gaze for long.

  “There’s some old meteor or whatnot coming for a lightning visit.” The Colonel mused, “Good God, I hope it doesn’t land before lunch.”

  “It is the wrong season for them.” Eddie told me firmly, “Now do drink up; or better still allow me to pour you another cuppa. That one seems to be cold.” I allowed them to bury the subject; I had learnt all I needed to know. I knew then that whatever proposal the Doctor had for my attention, I was going to accept. He was a dark and dangerous man, the sort of man I felt would be on the cutting edge, the crest of the wave. He was a species survivor, one who would keep the race going in spite of itself. And I knew the subject would be raised again but in a different form; a form that the Doctor would find more acceptable.