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

by Konig, Artor

  “The Master is sure to have given them a pretty good idea of everything he understood about our setup before we found him; and you did a bit of talking to him before we sorted him out. They may not be able to do anything about us; but they’re going to try. He may even have planted some sort of tracer on the craft so his henchmen could keep track of us. We have to take every possibility into account.” I said to him, fiddling with my food and looking everywhere but at his face. His presence disturbed me in some way, making it hard for me to concentrate on the matters on hand. He ate his meal in near silence, digesting what I was telling him, answering me on the points where I plainly needed some reassurance.

  He told me that dual controls were already in place; the craft’s autopilot would link itself to the other craft which was under control at once; the facility of Number One’s override only placed itself in control of a craft even if it was under the control of another pilot. Also the craft would automatically place themselves under the superior pilot’s control when they were flying in tandem; therefore during the actual combat I would be entirely in control. He told me that on our way there, he would do most of the flying, while I spent my time resting, saving myself for the battle itself. He would let me know when we were getting into extreme range; he would monitor the combat but I would do the actual targeting and firing; I had the edge.

  This news served to both reassure and unnerve me; I finished my meal in silence. He thanked me for my consideration as I cleared the tray. He went back to the work I had interrupted; I made my way back to my room. I detoured through the kitchen, unloading the tray and finding my milk and biscuits. It was in a pensive mood that I prepared myself for sleep, though sleep was long in finding me.

  18. Second Leave-taking

  The storm was an early riser; I witnessed its arrival before the comlink had drawn breath to awaken me. I was standing morosely at the window as the low grey clouds swept in. The display of ire and lightning was enlivening but it worried me that we could see nothing beyond the storm. I was not in a very good mood that morning; whilst I had already showered and made myself presentable I didn’t feel like being presentable. I rather felt like being grumpy and bad-tempered.

  The kitchen was in darkness; Byrtle complained in his little corner, telling me to make up my mind in no uncertain terms. He didn’t mind the dark, or the storm; but he wasn’t too happy about me prowling around without even offering him a grape or something. He managed to convey this impression very adroitly although the words and phrases he used had nothing to do with the subject whatever.

  I flicked on the lights and checked on the whereabouts of the Doctor. In my mind I was working out what I would do that day, deciding on getting the food down to the craft. It occurred to me then, hearing the fury of the storm; that I wasn’t going to do too much picking of fruit, not today at least. Whereas we did have enough food of other sorts, I was all worried about scurvy and related troubles to do with vitamin deficiencies. I decided to present the Doctor with my worries when he arrived for his breakfast.

  I turned my attention to that meal; the Doctor had sounded rather as if he was singing in the shower; and that meant he would be down in no time flat. The meal was on autopilot and the urn was just beginning to boil when he arrived, a spring in his step and a gleam in his eye. He listened in silence to my troubles then waved his hand at a little-used cupboard close to the scullery, “Vitamins; whole bottles of them; any sort you can imagine; June ordered hundreds of different types; pack a handful; they’ll see us through.” He told me cheerfully.

  “And while you’re taking the food down today, I’ll be taking down the parts for our horde of satellites. The plans are all drawn up and I’ll begin assembling them possibly this evening. The war satellites are very small, very light; the heaviest component of course being the reactors. It’s a good thing that we don’t have to go outside for anything today.” He looked out of the window where hail was rattling against the pane. The wind was howling low and long, its voice aching with some devilish emotion. He turned his attention back to his meal, savouring the tea I had made, but not trying to guess what sort it was. He was visibly gathering his resources, seemingly turning something over in his mind. I watched him intently, wondering what he was thinking about.

  At last he stood up, without speaking upon what he had been deciding. He turned to the stairs, ready for this day’s long labour. I cleared up the table then followed him. I recruited the satchel, filling it to its veriest brim with the pile of food I had laid out the evening before. With that on my back and my arms filled, I made my way carefully but quickly down the stairs. It was the beginning of a very long day, and I very quickly decided that I didn’t like the stairs. After I had taken everything that we needed from the kitchen, I made my way to the lowest of the store rooms, the one on the second level. The door was supposed to be locked; why, I could never work out.

  Locking the doors now made even less sense than it had before; but there was no reason for bringing the matter up anyway. Nonetheless I found it perversely pleasing that the door was not locked. It was closed, presenting a rat-proof seal, but that was all. I stuck my nose within, turning the light on. Swiftly I located the trays of tins that I required, piling them all up by the door. It would take me three trips I saw, even if I left them in their trays thereby making handling easier. But there was no way around it; there was no way that I could see of using a trolley on that narrow and crooked stair.

  With a sigh I bent my back to my labours. It occurred to me after the second load that I should be thinking great thoughts about lunch. This idea struck me rather behind times; I met the Doctor on his way down as I was dashing up for the third load; and he seemed to think that lunch was a very good idea. He was carrying a frightful assortment of tools and parts; he seemed rather tired though his step was firm and light.

  I trotted back up to the kitchen where I spent all of fifteen minutes on the matter of sandwiches. This bundle I shoved into my hard-worn satchel before I hit the stairs down to the second level. I gathered up the remaining four trays of tins and carried on down the stairs, considerably slowed by this burden. I was very pleased when I placed the trays beside Number Three; the last load of food. There was a huge section that I could scratch off my list. I worked it out that I would have a day free by the time I had packed and loaded everything on the list and checked everything. I turned from the Wrens, having a look at the pile that the Doctor had carefully placed in the middle of the entrance to lower control.

  There was a lot of lead and a lot of shininess; but otherwise that collection of gear didn’t convey any significance to me. He was masterfully overseeing the boiling of the kettle when I found my way around his pile. We took the time off for lunch, making a pleasant but rather hurried meal; tea and sandwiches never did lend themselves to formality. He was back up the stairs almost before his last sandwich was finished.

  I gulped down the last of my tea, then keyed in the opening sequence for the two Wrens. They obediently acknowledged my presence as I came up to them. I opened the rear door of Number One. The seats I folded up, deciding that there would be enough space within the two craft for all the stores without tampering with the seats or removing them. I loaded the food right at the back, strapping the parcels into place and balancing the load on either side of each craft’s centre of gravity. I tested the straps as each parcel was loaded.

  I was sweating in the cold of the Nest long before that job was done, though on looking over it, there wasn’t such a terrible lot of food. It had taken longer to bring the load down to the Nest than it took to load it up into the Wrens, though I took the care to load each craft properly. I looked at my list then at the chronometer on Number Three’s rear dash. It was almost teatime and then I could turn my attention to bringing the spares and the bottles of compressed air down. The oxygen was something else that upset me; the bottles of breathing-suitable gas were rather heavy, each one weighing who-knew how many pounds; but that was one detail I coul
dn’t see myself stinting. After all, breathing was a habit that I wasn’t keen on giving up.

  I peeped into lower control, but the Doctor wasn’t there. At once I turned up the pace a bit and trotted up the stairs. I caught up with him just below the third level of cellars; I guided him deftly up to the kitchen and informed him that he was having a break for tea. He seemed rather grateful that I was being firm over the matter of meals. I had been a bit late over lunch but he didn’t seem to mind me being on time for tea. We were both rather tired by the intense and fatiguing nature of our deadline; that was where the stress came from, not from the actual work we were doing.

  I trotted down the stairs on my way to the stores, a long list of required components in my hand. I soon saw that the task of assembling the load would take up my time until the evening meal and that I would be very relieved to call it a day when at last I did. The stores were contained in a long and narrow room, with hundreds of little boxes all arrayed in numerical order on shelves that went up to the roof and beyond. They were numbered cleverly; they were much of a size in any particular group, gradually getting bigger as they came closer to the floor.

  In this I detected Frank’s organised mind; he was ever one for crosswords or chess or getting things in their correct place. He was the one who didn’t mind what he ate as long as the food was put on his plate neatly with nothing overlapping or getting mixed up. I shook those thoughts from my mind ruthlessly as I went through the list. Of each item I took six, piling the boxes on the floor by the door. I peered worriedly at my list then at the pile that was getting rather bigger than I had bargained on. But on the other hand doing without laser elements or seals or lenses or whatever when we really happened to need them and were three billion miles away from this storeroom, didn’t really appeal to me. Taking along the repair kits with their tools and chemical sealants, just in case the tough hide of either Wren should spring a leak, seemed like a very sensible idea.

  I put everything together, glad when at last I came to the end of the list. I was all set for at least four trips; that much I could see. Two trips would take me to supper time and the rest I would have to deal with in the morning. I heaved off my trusty satchel, noticing that it had developed a hole by one of the straps. I loaded it brim full with little boxes of carefully numbered bits and pieces. I slung this on my back, gathering up an armful of larger boxes. I staggered to my feet, leaving the narrow store room behind me. Down those hateful stairs, each crack and lump of rough stone on the walls now only too familiar, too meaningful in the carious yellow light of those globes. The Wrens were silent but watchful; I had forgotten to key in their locking sequence so they were all expectant as I arrived. I trotted into lower control, where the Doctor was already busy offloading another heap of nameless components. I locked the two craft then trotted briskly up the stairs after the second load. I decided that I might manage load three before knocking off for supper.

  To that end I rushed myself somewhat, nearly throwing myself down the stairs in my enthusiasm. Load number three went off without a hitch, but I decided that such was more than needful. I met the Doctor on his way down as I was about to dash up again. He was duly informed that supper was about to be prepared and could he attend the said spectacle. He seemed to think that such was appropriate. I galloped up the first few levels of stairs, taking the levels through the cellars rather more slowly. It would have to be a simple meal, I decided, realising that I was rather out of it, that my day had left me with little energy.

  Supper was quiet; Byrtle more so. It seemed as if there was nothing left about which to speak. Our work lay before us, unanswerably stern and uncompromising, our reserves we knew well enough, what we had left to do we each of us knew best. Any energy we had we reserved for the task; nothing more. We finished our meal and went our own ways while yet the storm from the north raged in the chill beyond the windows. The Doctor was suitably pleased with such cooking as I had found energy to produce and again he seemed to have something other on his mind; but once again he made no mention of his thoughts.

  I saw him off in the wintry cold that had taken over the courtyard but he seemed indifferent to the rain and sleet that came hammering down around him. It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest to him that he use one of the south tower rooms, but it occurred to me that the upper control would need his attention during the night. Somewhat sadly I cleaned up the kitchen, made a fuss of Byrtle then trotted off to my room. A hot shower went a long way towards waking me up; enough to realise that I had forgotten my milk and biscuits. I managed to convince myself that I could manage without them; but this was one of the saddest follies of my life.

  With the alarm set at twenty-past four, it was just before midnight that I wandered forlornly down to the kitchen to pick up the vital victuals. Byrtle was fast asleep, his red-faced head tucked under his wing. Working by the light of the little green LED on the microwave, I made my hot milk and biscuits. Once I was back in my room, I spent longer than I should have at my notebook writing; making notes, diarising my schedule and getting impressions down. It helped a lot; it cleared things up in my own mind, it drained some of the thick and painful emotion that had built up within me. But it was by no means a complete catharsis. Then was not the time; the worst was yet to come. It helped me sharpen myself up, mentally at least.

  Physically it did me no good at all; it was after two before I finally went to sleep and when the alarm went I didn’t turn over and go back to have another fifteen minutes under my eiderdown. I was sandy-eyed and bad-tempered by the time I found myself in the kitchen. The Doctor was there already; he was still in his waterproofs and the lights were still flickering, leading me to conclude that he had passed through the door but moments before I had come trotting down the stairs. He picked up my mood at once and maintained a tactful silence as we co-operated over the matter of breakfast. The tea he made was rather a lot stronger than I was used to and he laced it with honey; it was rather like the elixir of life itself. I was in a much better mood when the meal was over. In something almost like a positive frame of mind I put myself to work.

  There was rather more lying about in the stores than I remembered but I managed to shoulder the entire amount. Feeling somewhat like a camel, I made my way slowly and sedately down the stairs. The Doctor was busy with a small laser, fusing his heap of components according to a large and complex diagram he had spread on the floor in front of him. He scarcely budged when I rearranged him, placing a blanket on the floor for him to kneel on. The orange eye shield he was wearing gave him a somewhat formidable aspect as he welded his bits and pieces together.

  I passed beyond him with difficulty; he had arranged himself right within the portal leading into lower control. At length I made my way to the console, keying in the unlocking sequence for the two craft. I bent my whole attention to loading the spares and working out what the next stage would be. I decided that I might as well tackle the gas-bottles next; my mind would be a lot easier after that was done. I wondered if there was enough liquid on board; the bottles of juice that I had already packed didn’t seem like so much. I realised that I was going to miss my cup of tea very much before this long and cataclysmic journey was behind us.

  With the last of the parts stowed to my satisfaction, I had a look at what the Doctor was doing, before facing the task of the gas bottles. His little toy was beginning to take shape before my eyes, coming out rather like a rugby ball but a good deal larger. It had two paddle-like solar collectors; specifically for aligning it, the Doctor assured me. It was nuclear powered as far as the lasers went; it had a battery of eight beams; seven x-lasers arranged around a central maser carrier. The maser was responsible for primary targeting after the radio-sensors had picked up a suitable target. He was busy fusing the internal components into place; he didn’t give me all that much attention. I watched him for a short while before bucking myself up to the point where I felt confident about the next bit of work. I checked on the time before trotting up the stairs
to the lower stores.

  I opened up the gas room, peering about me at the array of bottles, all of them with their chemical symbols. There were rather more of them than I had expected; this room was very large and there was no wasted space. I trotted around the room, seeking forlornly for bottles which contained simple oxygen or something along those lines. The Xenon certainly wasn’t much use, neither was the fluorine or silane.

  ‘Atmosphere’, I discovered, referred to the amount of pressure the bottles were under; it didn’t refer to actual content. I came at last to a group of bottles that contained the correct mixture of gases. These bottles were a generous size; the more so that I was expected to handle them by myself. But there was a bottle-trolley there; one that was adapted for the portage of two bottles at once. I tried it out, loading it up and seeing how hard it was to handle. The chains held the bottles securely; the trolley itself didn’t feel too cumbersome when it was loaded. I felt sufficiently confident to tackle the stairs with it.

  The Doctor had mentioned five bottles per craft; this seemed like rather a lot; but I wasn’t going to argue. Air was air after all, unless a person was a bit short of it. Five trips down the stairs with bottles, five back up with the trolley; I was going to have a busy day. Lunch came just after the second trip; tea came after the last of those ungrateful bottles were stacked next to the two craft.

  The Doctor was halfway through the second of his contrivances at that time. I was rather fed up with everything but I turned in to load and strap down the ten bottles in good spirit. Thereafter I turned my attention to the suits that were stored in emergency cupboards right at the back of the passenger compartments of the Wrens. I took them all out and had a very thorough look at them, selecting those which would fit the Doctor and me and placing those suits right at the front of the cupboards. That being done, I had a look at the hatches that led from the cabin into the storage hatch by the tail of the craft, acting as an airlock.