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

by Konig, Artor

  “If the jolly old natives didn’t think much of the old Master in his jolly old Nest, they couldn’t have been too comfortable coming along here.” Bob mused to himself, his eyes narrowed against the brilliance of the afternoon sky as he stared at the tower.

  “That must have given them nerves.” June suggested helpfully.

  “They packed up and left, didn’t they?” Andrew remarked.

  “They left on the long and lonesome journey, old chap.” Bob told him cheerfully, “Men, women and children, all gone between one visit and the next. Mind you they had an earnest go at getting off the island before whatever it was caught up with them, if I’ve got the gist of the story right; seems as if they suddenly didn’t feel cosy anymore and tried to buy their way off the island; fifteen mangoes and a barrel of coconut milk, all nicely fermented and a few copra mats; the usual sort of stuff that people all round the world leap at. It turned out that the sailors weren’t as keen or as helpful as they could have been. Anyway there wasn’t anybody to take off the next time they happened this way.”

  “And now we’re stuck here.” June said morbidly, “That castle seen like that gives me the creeps.”

  “Come now, old girl,” Craig admonished her, “Stiff upper lip; there isn’t anything that could shift us if we didn’t feel like moving.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” June replied.

  We discovered another useful path which led us back onto the Mango Route by a few devious switchbacks. We added a goodly number of that coveted fruit to our booty, making good time back up the grim trail right into the kitchen courtyard. On arriving at the yard, June and I were obliged to do a bit of fancy footwork to secure the clothes on the line against a sudden storm that had sneaked up on us. After that it was teatime, notable this time around for the fact that we all shared the meal for the first time in a few weeks. In recognition of that auspicious fact I devised the then-after perennially popular honeysuckle tea. The day was further remarkable for the fact that Jim made no disparaging remark about this innovation; he seemed to be quite taken by the idea on its first try.

  “Bit of a jolly old what-have-you.” He told me cheerfully, “I must say this potion you’ve cooked up seems a bit of alright.”

  It was two months later; right in the bitterest depths of the grim northern winter. It was now in fact; it only a few weeks ago. Three weeks and a couple of days ago but I digress; I seem to have lost all track of time; the time I could spend getting back in touch with my systems on the island I use to stand here, on the ledge usually in the rain.

  Two months after that trip down to that cave, that noisome lair, I was awoken a good hour before dawn, before my alarm, before all of that by an urgent voice coming from my comlink. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and I responded swiftly.

  “Cassandra, please report to Number Three immediately.” The message was repeated; by the time it had gone through for the second time I was stuffing my feet into my track shoes and hauling at the laces. Twenty seconds later I was pounding down the stairs, quite prepared to do or die. I stormed through the kitchen, grabbing a lonely-looking sandwich as I passed.

  The long stairway was not conducive to this ‘immediately’ business but it was less than four minutes before my long legs had covered the distance. I barely took note of Craig and Sam fiddling with Number Four as I piled into the co-pilot’s spot on Number Three. Whoever I was flying with, it was accepted that I took the teacher’s spot. This time it was Brett. He already had the jets warmed up; in the back of the craft Jim and Garreth were at the firing posts. Jim was obviously not happy with this arrangement as it kept him from his research but we were short-handed as a general thing. I glanced around the cavern, seeing that the three other Wrens, One, Two and Five were already out. Whatever it was that was biting the Doctor this time, it was obviously a bit more serious than he had expected. Or maybe we were being sent out on another mission altogether.

  “What’s the buzz, Garreth?” I asked as Brett took the craft carefully through the passage. “Middle East again, damn their eyes.” He replied. He and Ronald shared duties in the lower watch post; the Doctor almost exclusively occupied the upper one. If one wanted to know anything about what was happening anywhere in the world, one put one’s query to either Garreth or Ronald. The endless miles of magnetic tape on which was recorded every utterance to be made by private or government sources on any frequency the world over; each inch sifted and interpreted, each nuance observed and anything that could lead to potential conflict was brought to the good Doctor’s notice, sometimes before the bellicose parties knew they were headed for a tiff. As yet nobody knew just where the Wrens came from; outside of military sources the sleek silver craft were still little more than a fanciful rumour.

  The military boys certainly were not going to explain to their bosses why they were so unwilling to chance the odd battle on those rumours, but two governments, both of them despots of some sort, had been overthrown when throwing down the gauntlet in the face of their army’s unwillingness to engage in what they now knew the Doctor thought was unnecessary conflict.

  Brett took the Wren swiftly on her way, searing through the upper reaches towards the Persian Gulf. We were almost there; somewhat more than a thousand miles away, but high enough to begin targeting over the horizon, when the Doctor’s call came through to us. He sounded tired and frustrated but slightly pleased at the same time, “Brett? Sorry to have called you out but we’ve cooled the damned Yanks down; you may as well turn back; we’ll be joining you shortly.”

  “Right-ho doc.” Brett replied phlegmatically enough. There were no signs yet that anybody had managed to crack the complex encryption that the Doctor had devised and spend a few minutes every day upgrading for our radio transmissions, but we kept our tight-beam communications strictly short as a general rule. We had seen quite a bit of action during the past couple of weeks, mostly in that area; with the losses in hardware on all sides but our own swiftly escalating. I didn’t know how many billion dollars and pounds-worth of precision metal I had personally slagged down, but it was getting to be a rather tedious and long-winded game called attrition.

  The jets in particular were easy prey; a single rupture in their fuselage almost anywhere, was enough to cause an ejection. The u. v. laser system that June, Garreth and Sam had perfected could cut a foot-long slash through inch-thick armour-plating in less than a tenth of a second.

  Although June had explained extensively how the Lutetium-Dysprosium Fluoride complex was excited by the correct electromagnetic impulses, I can’t have impressed her as a potential student. I was very impressed by the power of the system; that I couldn’t but help. But it was the X-lasers that June had finally perfected, after what seemed like a very long time, that impressed me the most. Whereas the range of an X-laser in atmosphere is limited; it tends to disrupt everything in its path, losing a lot of energy on the way; it takes a very big obstruction to get seriously in its way. I remember once tripping the X-array accidentally when trying to pry open a very deep bunker with some rather obstinate missiles within; the explosion had seemed to be rather large, especially since I had been too close to dodge and had to take the Wren through the hellish blaze. It had been a rocky journey, but even that blast of solar proportions hadn’t marred the sleek shine of the Wren’s awesome armour.

  “Those X-lasers are for space dear.” June had told me somewhat tartly though her voice was quiet.

  “Now you tell me.” I riposted, “I don’t think we’ll have any more problems with those missiles.”

  “No, I guess not.” James agreed, “But they may think we’re being a bit of a nuisance letting off nuclear bombs all over the show.”

  “That they won’t.” Sam had assured us quickly, “Those folk aren’t even supposed to have them or know how to use them. It is just another accident from letting ignorant folk muck about with these things.”

  “I suppose so.” James agreed then.

  But now with Br
ett taking us home before we had even seen what was up, that got on my nerves even as it relieved me to have kept clear of yet another fire fight. I had missed breakfast; that was the least of my troubles. Jim seemed to be somewhat morose as well. Garreth had his nose tucked up to the Wren’s long range scanner, watching the battle fade behind us. We were trotting along at a sedate pace; it was not long before the other three Wrens came up behind us. The sleek craft were unscathed; there was nothing short of an X-laser blast that could get through those adamantine hulls. Even ultra-short u. v. laser tended only to compact the structure in even minute-long blasts.

  Brett was easy at the controls, the Wren steady and stable through its towering speed. Before long we were waiting politely by the entrance to the Nest while the war-weary boys trotted sedately within. Brett took us down into the cavern. He seemed pleased that the whole show was over but he was on edge at the same time. I shook my fatigue, feeling the pleasant pile of the dark green fabric under my hands. I unstrapped myself, removing the helmet while Brett shut the bird down. It wasn’t often that I was shipped as a passenger; not even once touching the controls; and that seemed to be the final insult. By the time I had greeted Sam at Number Four and hit the stairs up behind the boys I was in an evil mood.

  Almost everybody was in the kitchen, ostensibly helping a rather flustered June with breakfast. She had been out on the mission and was showing clear signs of fatigue. I had it from Jim that they had left shortly after midnight and had been at the scene for three hours before Jim received the call for further backup. Once I had that piece of knowledge straight, I forthrightly banished everybody from the kitchen, telling them to damn well go and sit in the hall; I would get the meal together myself. I included June herself in the banishment, and was rather surprised at the grateful glance she gave me as she obediently trotted out of the room. Jim and the Doctor refused to be banished; they seemed to sense that my mood was a tiny bit sub-cheerful and that I might need a spot of help with the meal. They worked silently beside me as I slapped a proper meal together.

  Jim put himself in charge of the tea, the Doctor worked off some of his frustration making a huge pot of rather luscious scrambled eggs. I was in charge of the fry-up, opening packets and tins and hurling the contents into the griller. We didn’t take too long over our offering and the teamwork seemed to put me into a slightly better mood. The Doctor addressed himself to the comlink telling any outliers and stragglers that this was it, before we returned to the hall. I glanced around, seeing that there were only twelve people there. I didn’t take the time to see who was not there; the four missing people would undoubtedly be on duty or down in the Nest. Sam wasn’t there; he was downstairs. June leapt to her feet, helping us to dish out the fare. Her face was tired, there were rings under her eyes, but she seemed the better for the cup of tea I presented to her.

  I remained in the hall after the meal, having cleared up and found myself another cup of tea. Simon and Peter stayed as well though June retired. Jim was discussing the last incident with the boys in low voices; I didn’t pay much attention to the talk. The sudden awakening I had suffered was catching up with me, causing me to drift off to sleep while the voices of the others droned in the background.

  “Where’s Craig?” The new voice cut through my slumber, the tone concerned; the voice lighter than those of the three in the hall. I surfaced reluctantly peering around through the sandiness at whom it was who dared disturb me. Sam was standing beside the three in their easy chairs, “I thought maybe he’d knocked off for grub, but he’s supposed to be helping me down below to put Number Four back on line.”

  “Not seen the fellow since the call out.” Jim confided in him, “He was with you, then.”

  “Well he isn’t there now.” Sam replied irritably, “Have you half a clue as to where he might be?”

  “No we haven’t.” Simon replied, “Sorry we can’t help you, old chap.”

  “Gah.” Sam grumbled, “Can’t get help at all these days.” He looked up as Andrew ambled into the hall, “I say Andy, lend a chap a hand will you?”

  “Sure; what’s up?” Andrew replied affably.

  “I need to get Number Four put back together but Craig seems to have done a bunk on me; would you care to fill in for him?”

  “Right-ho.” Andrew agreed complacently, falling in with Sam as the shorter man trotted down the stairs. I shifted myself on the comfortable armchair; I wasn’t comfortable, I felt itchy and irritable. It took me a good few minutes to drift off to sleep again and even then it wasn’t worth the trouble. For some reason of which I was not aware, somebody made the point of passing through the hall, loudly and noisily, at least four times in the hour. It was approaching the noon hour when I gave my nap up as a bad job, stretching languidly before rising to my labours. Resignedly I strode into the kitchen to see what there was that needed to be done. Byrtle brought my attention to the washing machine that had been loaded but not subsequently unloaded. I heaved the damp bundle into a basket, all the while wondering what I was going to prepare for lunch.

  Somebody had forgotten to load the bread makers yesterday, meaning that the easy way out wasn’t open to me. I glared at the murky sky while I hung out the washing; there was a serious bit of cloud to the south, with outliers straggling across the sky overhead. Byrtle kept me company while I laboured in the windy cold, fighting the reluctant garments onto the line one by one. Byrtle was complacently dismantling a peg that I had given him; anything rather than submit to his habit of sitting on my shoulder or head. He had often enough caused June and myself serious grief; himself as well, beyond doubt, by getting his claws tangled in our hair then trying to fly away in a panic. Either that or he fancied himself as a man-eating roc or eagle and was trying to carry us off to his lair.

  The last garment had been pegged in place for exactly twelve seconds before it started to rain. I walked on, bounding up the steep stone stairs with the basket bouncing against my knees. As far as I was concerned, the elements had decided the wash needed another rinse and I wasn’t going to argue. I entered the kitchen somewhat damp myself. Byrtle made a dive at me as I passed the threshold, collecting himself upon his washing machine before any damage was done. I put some water and seed in his trays, scratched his poll, then turned my attention to everybody else in the kitchen.

  “You’re looking gorgeous today.” Bernhart told me thoughtfully as he swilled down some tea.

  “It’s probably too much sun.” I replied helpfully.

  “Get away, lass.” He chuckled.

  “Tea?” James inquired.

  “Love a cup.” I replied.

  “Get me some while you’re at it.” Bernhart added.

  “Right. Found some Blackcurrant tea here; don’t tell June I’ve pinched it.” He told us conspiratorially, knowing full well that June was standing in the doorway behind him. She was looking a bit fresher, but was obviously in no mood for leg-pulling. She set herself about getting lunch together in a grim silence. Her face was no invitation to conversation. I lent her a hand while James and Bernhart tactfully absented themselves from the room, taking their pirated tea with them.

  It seemed that we would be rather at a loose end after lunch as Simon, June and I sat at our ease in the hall. The remnants of the meal had been carted away. Rain was drumming at the leaf-shrouded windows; the air in the hall was cool and moist. June had snuggled herself up to Simon and looked rather as if she was about to go back to sleep. I was quiet and comfortable in my armchair beneath one of the tall windows; from the corner of my eye I could watch the swirling clouds overhead, listen to the drumming of the solidly falling rain on the leaded panes.

  “I must remember to shove some bread on this evening.” I told the window thoughtfully, “And maybe the clothes will be dry before midnight.”

  “They’ll be frozen on the line, pet.” June told me sleepily, “Maybe you should bring them in now.”

  “Do you have an aqualung?” I asked plaintively, “I might need it.” My
comment was punctuated by a bellowing crash of thunder, “Gosh, I wouldn’t like to have to fly in this lot.” I mumbled thoughtfully, peering back up at my window, “It’s a bit wet upstairs.”

  “Anybody seen Craig, dash it all?” Sam appeared up the stairs once again, his small round face clearly annoyed. I felt the beginnings of worry at the back of my mind.

  “No; have you had a look in his room?”

  “Which is his room?” Sam returned bluntly.

  “He’s in the keep, isn’t he?” I riposted.

  “His room is in the keep.” Sam corrected acidly, “But there are forty rooms in the keep; I’m not even sure which floor he’s on.”

  “Well, you’ve got your work cut out if you want to find him.” Simon told him cheerfully.

  “I don’t want to find him.” Sam retorted, “But the fellow is supposed to be on duty and there’s an urgent call up.”

  “Well,” Simon said gently, standing up to his full height, “I’ll take the call, and you can go and look for your truant in peace.” June tried in vain to pull him back down before standing up rather reluctantly herself.

  “Thanks, Simon, I’ll do that. But you need a co-pilot, don’t you?” Sam replied.

  Simon looked down at me; I sighed reluctantly before standing up beside him. Sam looked at the three of us in amusement, said “The tall, middle and small.” Under his breath before he disappeared into the depths of the keep.

  “We should keep track of where everybody is.” June mused to herself as she led the way down the winding stairs. “Cassandra, where is your room?”

  “It’s in the south tower.” I supplied helpfully.

  “Yes?” She pressed, “The south tower is a big place. Is there anyone else in there?”

  “There is no-one of whom I know. My room is up those outside stairs, the one with the balcony and the study on the first floor.” I replied.