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

by Konig, Artor

  “Don’t be cruel to the poor child,” Jim leapt to my defence, “She’d be heart-broken if anything happened to her favourite collapsible slippers. I know; I’ve been through that trauma myself.” He winked to me and nodded at his mug of Lapsang Souchong tea. I smiled as I crossed the room.

  The last meal in the farmhouse was not formal or relaxed; we were all itching to be on our way, somehow feeling as if some government troops were already on their way to annex the base and the fleet. The Doctor was going over lists as he munched his sandwiches, talking to Harry and Jim, Sam adding a few words every now and then. There was a lot of specialised equipment aboard the Wrens as well as our luggage. The very last thing I did in that farmhouse was turn off and unload the dishwasher, with Alex twittering impatiently at my shoulder, “’S not matter, leave it, there are people coming to fix it all, hurry now Cassandra!”

  “We are flight ready; Wren Leader to Wren Two through Five, prepare for take-off.” The Doctor whispered into the comlink as I fired up the craft. Simon, Bernhart, Roger and Ronald acknowledged at once. I looked through the multi-view-visor, noting their positions relative to my own. I left the inertialess drive inactive even after we had achieved minimum height at the Doctor’s instructions.

  We headed due east, breaking through only two sound barriers in our sedate climb. Once we were sufficiently high, the Doctor cut off the comlink and spoke briefly, “There; on the radar monitor; see that blob? That’s a far view of Pluto with another mass in an orderly orbit far beyond; there. I’ve called that planet Styx after the river in Hades; that is as close to the nether regions as makes no difference, do you see? Now over there; that tiny little trace, barely a fuzz on the radio telescope reception; that little dot there.”

  “Could it be a big boulder of some sort?” I asked. The Doctor was taking a disc out of his pocket, feeding it into the craft’s disc drive, “This is a record of all the traces I’ve monitored since I first noticed the anomaly,” He told me carefully as I turned my attention back to my flying, “And a projection of its path should it remain constant.”

  I looked down at the screen again, my eyes going from that monitor to the one next to it, flying by instruments. The graphics were a lot clearer than the radio trace had been, showing the new planet’s probable orbit and those of the inner nine planets and the asteroids. The red dots, the latest being the one I had just seen, swooped in behind Styx, its path bent by the dark giant. The green line, the projected route, showed other ablations and deviations mapped according to the position of each planet as the dot passed them by. It was clearly headed into the inner void; but its exact destination could not be projected from the information the Doctor currently had.

  “It’s going rather fast.” I suggested tentatively.

  “Point eight C.” The Doctor agreed briefly, “It has a long way to go, but it’s going too damned fast to be a rollercoasting pebble. There simply isn’t a force that I know of which will send a meteor through the void at that pace.” He looked at me, his eyes steady.

  “Then…” I began tentatively, glancing at him then turning my eyes back to my flying.

  “Then we’ve got visitors.” The Doctor said simply, “And I don’t think they’re going to be nice ones.”

  “Oh…” I said carefully, “We could always go and have a closer look one of these days,” I suggested, “And maybe see if we like the look of them.”

  “I was hoping you’d suggest that.” The Doctor replied seriously, “It’s not a trip I would want to go alone on and I can’t ask anyone else to take a blindfolded risk.”

  “But I already know they’re out there so I will take the risk with my eyes open.” I assured him. “I already know as well that they won’t be pleased to see us.” Another thought occurred to me and I carried on, “They may just be different; we cannot assume the worst until we have definite proof of their intentions. It’s best not to jump to conclusions; after all they have come rather a long way to visit us.”

  “You’re perfectly correct of course,” The Doctor agreed carefully, “But I for one am going to plan for the worst; that’s what I’ve been doing all along. We do need definite proof that they’re up to no good before we hammer them. But I am quite convinced that they know we’re here.”

  “How’s that?” I asked as I opened up the throttle of the Wren and sent the fleet hurtling along to Black Crag.

  “Rational radio emissions.” The Doctor replied briefly, “This planet is emitting so much rational garbage on all frequencies that it would take a positive idiot to miss the fact, given even a second-rate radio-telescope or long-range receiver of that sort. They know we’re here; they all know we’re here and that puts them at an advantage; there are only two of us who are aware of them. Fortunately you and I with this Wren make a rather formidable team.”

  “You said it, doc.” I agreed cheerfully, “Although one against X isn’t my type of odds, especially when there is no known value to attach to X.”

  “Five against X, Cassandra. That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you in a rather private way; this Wren controls the other four; its combat mode deploys the other four on autopilot using a strategic navigational system that I borrowed and improved on from my War Ministry days. This of course is something I am absolutely trusting you with; it mustn’t get around at all, not even to the others. With you flying and the other craft guided through the system’s responses and me entirely in charge of the laser web, there is nothing I can think of which can stop us. Why with the five crafts’ X-laser batteries in synch, we could destroy a meteorite of over ten miles’ diameter in a single pass; simply cook it into a vapour in a fifty-second barrage. We have a definite edge as far as actual aggressive power is concerned. As well as that there is no radar or radio-detection system that I know of that can detect the Wrens. If it comes to it, we’ll hammer them.”

  “If we can whack them.” I said quietly, “They may not want to be hammered and they may have systems of which we have simply never heard.”

  “That’s the problem.” The Doctor agreed somewhat petulantly, “We don’t know enough about them. I’ve a good idea of what they’re possibly capable of from my assessment of their progress and apparent mean size; but not what they actually have. That’s why I propose we go and look at them when we have a week or so to spare.”

  “Could we get out there in a week?” I asked in surprise.

  “No, no, of course not; to get that far we’d have to come close to breaking the light barrier and I haven’t figured quite how to do that, even with the inertialess drive. But we could get sufficiently far from the Earth to cut down on background interference. A week for the trip out with maybe three days for observation should do the trick. We’ll wait till the lads and June have settled down into a routine and my deputies have a good idea of what I expect from them before we beetle off and have a look at what this trace actually is.” The Doctor turned his helmeted head to the monitor where another red dot had appeared on the green line of the object’s projected path. The Wren was constantly monitoring the trace and revising the enhanced image on a regular basis. I looked at the trace on the radio telescope monitor, moving almost perceptibly. Its speed was colossal, awesome; I wondered if the Wren with its twin nuclear turbines could ever be made to go that fast.

  8. The Crag

  We were high over Siberia, maintaining a modest three mach and an altitude of sixty-thousand feet when the Doctor reopened the comlink with the rest of the fleet simply instructing them to increase speed and activate the inertialess drive. I went through the sequence quickly, seeing Number One pull away from the rest of the fleet for a short stretch. They surged ahead almost as one and I held back a bit until we were all in our original chevron. I left the jet streams below, guiding the craft into the darkness and tenuous reaches of the upper atmosphere. The ramjets were rumbling happily, the sky above was a blur of sable and stars, below us the grey of land became the grey of northern ocean through the glass at my feet. I was rela
xed and in the rhythm of the flight, my eyes flickering from one monitor to the next, keeping tabs on the boys behind me. There was about half a mile between each craft and they were about a quarter of a mile behind me on either side.

  The multi-view in my helmet visor could show me what was going on in each cabin, the talk, the concentration on the four pilot’s faces, June arguing with Jim as she sat behind Simon, Brett’s solemn attention as Ronald gave him a spell at the controls, Frank and Bob’s uproarious laughter as they discussed some obscure amusement with Bernhart and James, James’ comment causing further mirth. Roger and Andrew dour and concentrated on their task, Harry and Alex intent on the screens behind them. I felt rather lonely, seeing but not being part of their joy and labours. I projected ahead, locating the island on the map and adjusting my course for it. I radioed the new course to the boys, heard their acknowledgement then went back to the serious business of flying.

  “How long before we land, Cassandra?” June’s voice came through clearly.

  “It’s about thirty minutes,” I replied, “Hold on; twenty-seven minutes and fourteen seconds.”

  “Thanks love.” She replied, “You know where to land? The cave is facing northeast, about twenty fathoms below the castle wall; it’s the only cavern large enough to take the Wrens.”

  “Right.” I replied, looking at the image of the island called up from the Wren’s memory. The image swung around on the screen, its photographic details as of midday, showing the shape of the island. I located the cavern easily enough, followed the Wren’s memory into the cave to where the landing site was. I looked at the chronometer, the flight table and the altimeter. It was time to cut the rope and let the old bucket down. I issued the instructions tersely, heaving the stick gently forward. The Wren’s nose dipped, the sweep of the ocean taking up a suddenly larger proportion of the horizon. I eased back on the throttle, cutting the ramjets. The lads were keeping pace with me, trotting along at my heels.

  “Target site located?” I asked.

  “Confirmed.” The four replies came.

  “Ease up; prepare to disengage afterburners and inertialess drive.” I commanded. My hand was steady on the stick, my eyes watching the seconds pass as the island swept up alarmingly fast and large.

  “Cut! Disengage super-stages, bank left.” The five craft kept their formation immaculately as we swept over the sharp flank of the island. We swept over the lagoon, banking back to the right, “Cancel wing-wrack, re-engage rotors and turbines.” The craft came to a dead hover, the four Wrens hovering at my shoulders.

  In front of me, half a mile away and exactly level with my craft’s nose in the evening darkness was the enigmatic maw of the cavern.

  “Bloody hell; you hit it right on the button.” Bernhart gasped, “Smart flying, angel.”

  “Fall in behind me. Your following distance is two-hundred yards nose to tail.” I commanded curtly, ignoring his remark, “If you’re not happy with your nerves engage pilot assist.” I watched as they lined up behind me. By the time they had finished I could only see Number Two behind me. Gently I eased the stick forward, my feet dancing a gentle minuet on the pedals, my hand easy on the throttle. The hole came slowly closer but I was obviously going a lot faster than the others were happy with. The Doctor was the only one who gave vent to no expression of panic.

  “Follow at your own pace then, but shut your mouths, dash it all.” I told them angrily, “Let a fellow concentrate on flying, will you?”

  They fell silent. Number Two kept pace with me after all as I entered the passage. The tunnel was in darkness; I turned on the multi-view scanner, keeping an eye on the features of the cave as I came to them. The passage sank slightly down, turning at a rather rapid rate for anyone whose nerves were not up to it. I turned on the powerful flood-lamp and spot-lamps below the nose of my craft, once I felt the light would not be seen out to sea behind me.

  The passage opened up in front of me, the light showing me a cave of generous proportions, even for all five craft. There were five circled H’s, each one numbered. The floor of the cave had been levelled, the walls left as nature intended. There were two passages leading out of the cave, according to the scanner, and there was a morass of equipment against the walls. I nosed the roaring craft gently down into her little spot, slamming on the brakes and turning off the major systems the moment the wheels were down.

  “Very good, Cassandra, I’m proud of you.” The Doctor told me as he unhooked his helmet and released his straps, “Keep that flood lamp on for a moment while I turn on the lights.” He opened the door and stepped out of the craft, walking confidently away from me to one of the banks of controls. He didn’t look around to see if anyone else may have been lurking around, he didn’t even turn to see how the others were coping with the landing; he went straight and terrier-like to his switches that he had installed; that he knew exactly where they were, how they worked; everything. I remember seeing his assurance, noticing that confidence, feeling that his bold and complacent manner should have given me confidence. But it didn’t; it left me with a sudden coldness in my spine, a chill I knew not how to compensate for.

  That chill I feel now, looking into the hopeless dark of the northern ocean. The only light comes from the moon or the stars or a rare flicker of lightning. No ships have ever passed within the range of my senses since I started these evening vigils. No aircraft have passed even right at the edge of the horizon; the world cares not for Black Crag; the island’s relentless isolation forever unbroken. Even Byrtle has fallen silent; I suppose that's my fault, for not talking much myself.

  Number Two came to rest beside me as the cavern lights began to come on in batches. The high roof was adorned with high-bay mercury halide luminaires far above a high catwalk. Flood-lamps were situated on the floor by the rough walls. I looked at the monitor still alight on the dash-board, watching as each craft came in; giving a word of guidance or encouragement where I felt it was needed. Bernhart brought Number Three down safely as Simon stepped out of Number Two. Number Four came gently to rest, Andrew’s eyes tight and hard, his hand relaxed on the stick. Ronald, calm and quiet as always, comfortable in the burgundy interior of Number Five, set the last of the Wrens gently down in the perfect centre of his pad. Then only did I shut down Number One completely, ready for the techs to have a look at her reactor. I sloughed off the helmet, slapped open the quick-release buckle of the flight straps and unfolded my lanky frame from the couch.

  “We did it, Cassandra, we’re safely here. And you were right about the cave after all.” James told me cheerfully, “Let’s have a jolly good look around the Wren’s Nest and see where everything is.”

  “Yeah, but don’t forget that someone has to unload these birds.” Bernhart told him, “Grab your tackle and hit those stairs up; I guess we want to go up rather than down.”

  “That’s right.” Frank said, “Grab your cases and I’ll show you more or less where to go.”

  June came drifting past, laden with an assortment of luggage. She pointed her nose ahead of her, looking at me. I took that as an instruction to accompany her. I found my cases and walked after her, my stride languid compared to her smaller steps.

  “You ran a good show, love, and you led the boys well. That’s very good; it means they will take your instructions with more confidence from now on. That’s the secret of being a good leader; lead to places where they want to go to and lead them safely.” She glanced up at me as we laboured up the ragged stairs. I nodded helpfully, my eyes on the stairs seven or eight treads above me. The staircase was obviously very old, the middle of each tread worn down, the wall polished by many passing elbows. The air was heavy with the scent of the sea. The stone was very dark grey. Above us the boys marched, below us as well. The plan seemed simply to be that each one of us should find his or her private spot, dump our cases then report below for unloading duties. I began to get the feeling that I wasn’t going to like these stairs very much; I said as much to June.

 
“Oh, this staircase isn’t so bad; only a couple more turns. What you want to look out for is the corkscrew. That path is the one big thing I have against Black Crag, the only thing able to give me nightmares.”

  The staircase opened out in a broad cellar, carrying on up the wall of the cellar to the next level above. Through three levels of cellars the stair went, each level divided into various chambers, most of them empty. Those that did have anything in them were fairly crammed with crates and boxes, obviously recently emplaced. The highest level of cellars opened out, showing starlight through an arched passage. The rooms there were stocked with tins of food, boxes and packets of various powdered and dried commodities. The stair ended in what was obviously a kitchen, a large and old-fashioned range of rooms with a few new additions. There was a doorway to the right leading into the narrow space between the castle walls and the keep itself. This space, never more than six yards wide, was too small to be called a courtyard.

  The walls of the keep and the triangle of the outer walls were rank with creepers, ivy, jasmine and honeysuckle swaddling the dour stone in a dark green blanket.

  “You won’t go short of jasmine tea here,” I told June reassuringly, “There seems to be a good supply laid on.”

  “So there does.” June replied musingly, looking up at the tall walls hemming in the narrow space, dull in the gloam of the cloudy morning. She sighed a small sigh before leading the way to the open door at the base of the keep. We found ourselves in a large and ornate hall, furnished and draped with ancient fabrics and couches, the ostentation of the room at odds with the Doctor who stood in the middle of the room, awaiting our arrival. We ambled into the room, looking around at the old shields, the tall windows and curtains, the majesty and the dust. After a few minutes we were all assembled.

  He bade us welcome, “This is our base; this room is the common room where we shall get together, have our meals and our talks. This keep is furnished throughout, the towers as well. There must be fifty or sixty chambers, most of them with facilities, some of them quite fancy. I have chosen a suite in the roundhouse, the north-western tower, for myself; because that is where I’ve installed the radio-telescope and radar so I can be on watch most of the time. Half of us have been here before and have spotted places where they feel comfortable. The rest of you can choose your own rooms. Settle yourselves quickly; we managed to get here rather early but tomorrow morning is almost on us. I want the Wrens unloaded as soon as possible so they can be on standby; will most of you see to that? Garreth, I would like you to chose an assistant, teach him the routine on the radar and telescope and start your watch as soon as maybe. June, Cassandra, can I leave kitchen duties to you as soon as you’re settled? We’ll have an early night tonight; tomorrow we’ll divide ourselves into shifts of eight hours apiece and get ourselves generally organised.” He nodded to us and turned to take his luggage to his room.