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

by Konig, Artor

  I looked about me in the darkness of the landing before turning right once again. This time I went slowly, carefully. The trapdoor was still closed; I heaved it open. The chill night wind fell upon my face, laden with ice and salt. The wind was sharp and fast. I stood at the south-western corner of the roof, leaning on the heavy stonework. I stared out to sea, far into the eternal waste. The high clouds drifted across the stars, the horizon lay almost silver in the gloom. I looked up, high into the western sky. Mars frowned down at me, a red and malevolent star. I cast my eyes further, seeing and recognising the pitiless points of light, the ones I could see, the ones which were supposed to be there. As far as I could see there was nothing out of place. But then, I couldn’t see all that far. I gave a small sigh and left that high roof.

  My room was just as I had left it all but for my milk; that had gone cold. I uncovered the great round bed, wondering if it would be less trouble for me to use the smaller room. But the curtains were not very thick; they would not keep out the light of the flood lamps that were likely to be left on all night. I turned back the covers of the large bed. After an impatient shake I stripped the bed down completely. I shook everything up, had a close look at the mattress to see if it was damp, before rebuilding the bed. I shrugged off my clothes, found my dressing gown and hit the shower.

  I shut my mind to any other thoughts, concentrating on the luxury of that hot water, wondering where it came from; the water was heavy with minerals, making me think that it came from a hot spring somewhere within the crag. It was refreshing, stirring the blood and smothering my anxiety. It smoothed tense muscles, causing me to relax. I was in a better frame of mind when at last I wandered back into the main bedroom. Gratefully I cast myself upon the extravagant eiderdown, snuggling into its enfolding warmth. I removed the comlink from my case, plugged it into its socket and set it for an early hour. I dug up the book I had selected, opened the packet of biscuits and settled myself down.

  Twenty minutes later I was through the last crumbs, my glass was destitute of milk; the book was less interesting than I had hoped. I was standing on my balcony, savouring the night wind. I noticed a stairway going down from the kitchen below me to the court yard, dark and unlit. I belted my dressing gown a bit more firmly around my middle and had a look around my own balcony.

  It came as a great reassurance to find there was a staircase leading down from my balcony to the ledge outside the back kitchen door. At once I retrieved my glass and skipped swiftly down the steps. I elbowed the door open, seeing that the kitchen was brightly lit and occupied.

  “You’re just in time lass.” Jim told me, “How did you know I was at the ice-cream?” I laughed and found myself a bowl, feeling some slight reassurance in his mature calm. We talked for a while about everything but that which was on my mind, before he bade me good night. I watched him leave, turned off the lights and went slowly up the inner staircase with another glass of hot milk; my only weapon against the dark.

  9. Settling in

  The dawn and the raucous clamour of the comlink’s alarm awoke me, a shocking jolt which blurred through whatever I had been dreaming, driving a shaft of light behind my eyes. I groaned in the gloom of my room, slapping the comlink to silence. My head throbbed dolorously, my eyes were sandy, my temper sour. I thought about turning over and going back to sleep, but I had wasted enough of the previous night trying that to no avail. Anyway I was hungry and I knew myself well enough to realise that this made any further sleep impossible. I never could sleep on an empty stomach.

  I tried to pull myself together and make myself presentable, not with any great success. I heaved back the curtains, seeing the breathless blue of the ocean dark in the dawning, the dull shadow cast by the castle stretching out for miles. I opened the French windows, savouring the freshness of the sea. It then occurred to me that if I wanted to see the sunrise in the morning I ought to think about getting a room that faced east. Not move into such a room; just sleep there as the mood struck. After all, the twenty-one rooms in this tower had only one occupant; me; there was nobody to insist I stayed put. I filed the idea away for consideration at a later date.

  I took up my bundle of discarded washing, my litter and my empty glass then strode out onto the balcony to see how the rest of the world was doing. The noise of seabirds came up to me, a long and cheerful chorus; no end and no beginning; just a happy flow of loud noise. I looked down but saw little of the beaches; the green of the lower ledges hid the base of the cliff from my sight. The higher ledges, some of them, were alive with birds of all colours and descriptions, all shades and sizes with a few rather obscure shapes amongst them. Some starling-like fellows perched cheekily a bit above my head on the upper balcony, telling me exactly what they thought of me hanging around their spot as I was. I waved my hand at them in a vain attempt to scare them away, but they seemed to know I was in a delicate frame of mind. They spread their wings in reply, ducking their heads and glaring in an obvious challenge. I chose to ignore them. My head was aching slightly and my mood had only marginally improved since I had awoken. I arranged the bundle I was carrying a bit more efficiently before trotting down the rough stone steps.

  The stairway was narrow, the stone rail rather low, turning in two switchbacks before joining the north side of the ledge outside the kitchen. This balcony was not very wide, with a second staircase going down from the point where my staircase ended. The courtyard below was much wider and would have been large enough for ten of the Wrens to land had it not been fouled up with washing lines, poles and clumps of stone inconveniently located at its edge. I looked moodily into the blue shadow that the castle threw on the whole scene before walking slowly into the kitchen.

  My plan was to snaffle whatever there was to eat and drink and find myself a quiet corner in which to brood. However, this was not to be; the kitchen was already rather full of an assortment of people who were too damned cheerful for my peace of mind. June divested me of my bundle of clothes, shovelling it with all the other bundles into a generously proportioned washing machine. Alex took my empty biscuit packet from me; Jim exchanged my empty glass for a huge mug of steaming tea. Simon insisted I cheered up, James told me happily that he had been assigned as my second should there be any missions and wasn’t that a jolly thing anyway?

  “But it’s only tentative,” He went on, “The doc wants to see how well we work together, all of us, so he’s going to be changing the roster every now and again.”

  “We have eleven pilots and five Wrens.” Craig mused, “If only four of us are supposed to be on duty at any given moment that means we can only muster two Wrens at a time.”

  “We need crew as well.” Bernhart said morbidly, “It’s a good thing that this old castle has plenty of space for expansion.”

  “We do need a few more pilots.” James agreed, “Oh well beyond doubt the Doctor has a plan to cover that.”

  “Here, little lady; see what it is I have for you.” Alex beamed benevolently, his gold tooth flashing. He placed a plate full of toasted cheese sandwiches into my hand. The bread was steaming slightly, the cheese oozing out from between the layers. He meant well; he was convinced that he was being a wonderful man, and I did my best to play up to that. But in my mood at the time, with my head aching and threatening all sorts of maladies, toasted cheese sandwiches could hardly have appealed to me less even if they had been presented to me in knowing malice.

  I took a sip of my tea, trying to settle my stomach. The soothing liquor did just that; it was some mild floral brew, some obscure discovery of June’s that had somehow got under Jim’s guard. Finding the activity in the kitchen to be going on without any effort on my part, I made my way to the hall. My strides were long but languid, my eyes on the towering, green-swathed walls of the keep. The hall was gloomy; the lights were out and there was nobody hovering about in the gloam. I ensconced myself in a comfortable chair next to the staircase and had an earnest attempt to consume those terrible sandwiches.

  Frank a
nd Bob came blowing into the hall, full of laughter and clutching steaming mugs of tea. They plonked themselves down on chairs close to mine.

  “Good news, Cassandra; we’re going to be trotting off for a few training flights a bit later; maybe midday or so. The Doctor wants us to observe the Wren in an overland night mission; West Africa. Would you like to be our pilot?” Frank demanded happily.

  “We’re going to be flying low and fast over the jolly old desert then over the jungle; we’ll be seeing how the spotters work and how accurate they are. It’s a routine test.” Bob confided, helping himself to one of my sandwiches.

  “That sounds sort of jolly.” I told them listlessly, “James says he’s been posted as my co-pilot. If you lads would like to kill the rest of these sandwiches, I can dig him up at once.”

  “I knew you’d be thrilled.” Bob told me, halfway through another sandwich. I took my half of a sandwich and the empty plate while Frank held converse with the last sandwich. I walked back into the kitchen with the plate, noticing that the room was a bit more crowded than before. I cornered James, told him to trot along down with Bob and Frank. The plate I left; the tea I finished before I turned to leave the room. I spotted the Doctor and told him of Frank’s mission. He nodded calmly, “Log out on the main system downstairs,” He told me, “And post the tracer so we can monitor the flight.”

  “Right-ho, Doctor.” I told him before returning to the hall where the boys were waiting for me.

  “Do we want to approach Africa from the west or the east?” I asked them as we trotted down the stairs. It had occurred to me that both ways were just as far, Africa being on the other side of the globe.

  “West sounds good to me.” Bob replied, “We want to go over the west coast, into the interior at about thirty degrees north, head into the Sahara then turn south and over fly the Congo jungle. We want to fly rather low in places; hundred or so feet clearance and on a good few stretches we shall have to go well below one mach. We want to see who’s where and how many; both visually and with the instruments, to get a general idea of how accurate the spotter is.”

  “So we’ll over fly America on the way there.” James said happily, “It’ll be midday there, does it matter if we set off this early?”

  “I guess not,” Frank replied, working it out, “It’s an hour or so after sunset over Africa at the moment, and it’ll take a bit of time to get there, so I figure it’ll be okay; what do you say, Bob?”

  “As long as it’s dark,” Bob replied with a shrug of his shoulders, “It is a night-scope we’re trying to test.”

  “We should approach from the north.” James said, “Cut down the trip by about five thousand miles or so.”

  “Good thinking; we can ride along the meridian, over Morocco and into the desert.” I agreed. James had the experience as a navigator that I lacked.

  “We want to cross the west coast, however.” Bob told us firmly, “Go over the North Pole by all means; but cut into the continent round about the Gold Coast.”

  “Sure thing, captain.” James agreed.

  We entered the Nest, seeing that most of the lights were on; Harry and Sam were busy with Number Four, having apparently spent most of the previous night pulling her to bits. I strode into the control centre where Roger and Ronald were poring over one of the screens.

  “Morning Cassandra; are you on your way?” Roger asked.

  “So I am; I’ll just log out first.” I told him, going to one of the system’s keyboards.

  “Use Number Two, there’s a dear; Four is out of commission, Three is on line for a check-up, and One is booked.”

  “Right, Roger.” I agreed, typing my access code and entering the system’s logging facility. Having finished with that, I turned away and left the two Ro’s to whatever they were studying.

  “We’re flying in Number Two, lads.” I told my crew, seeing them standing and watching Sam and Harry, “Morning boys, don’t you bust that poor old bird up too much.”

  “Morning Cassandra.” Harry greeted me cheerfully before turning his attention back to the interior of the craft he was labouring over. There were no system access panels on the outer hull of the Wren, only the three doors and the luggage hatch. Everything had to be done from within the craft.

  “Useful idea if something goes wrong while you’re in deep space.” James observed.

  “That’s what the Doctor thought when he was collaborating with us on design details.” Bob agreed, “It’s a bloody nuisance when there’s enough of the old vapour about, though.”

  “Can’t have it all ways, I suppose.” Frank mused as we turned to leave.

  “You lead, James.” I told him as he made his way to the co-pilot’s door, “I can fly comfortably on the left; I want you to have a bit of practise.”

  “Hokay,” He replied dubiously, “But I’m not too sure about getting us out of this hole in one piece, Cassandra.”

  “You have to learn, old boy; I’ll put you through the routine but you must go through it. I’ll ghost on the controls while you fly; or we can turn on the old pilot assist.”

  “Right.” He agreed, “You ghost; I figure that you’re better than any old autopilot.” He trotted importantly around the nose of the craft while the rest of us boarded. I relaxed into the soft ivory fabric, hauling my straps down and reaching for my helmet.

  James leaped aboard and strapped up while I went through the light-up routine. I put my feet on the pedals and my hand on the stick, getting him used to the feel of that resistance. “When you lift up, swing against the torque of the craft so as not to under-control; and then frame yourself centrally on the multi-view; are you ready, lad?” I asked him quietly.

  “Sure thing Cassandra.” He agreed as the craft gently left the ground. The undercarriage folded itself away as the craft spun on its vertical axis. Slowly and carefully he nosed the craft out of the dark and winding passage, into the brilliance of the island’s morning side. The craft hovered about two hundred yards away from the cave mouth on the northeast side of the cliffs.

  James handed the controls fully over to me and took a moment to unhelm himself and wipe his face. “Shrewee, Cassandra; I did that little thing. Lord, but I must get my nerves settled after that session.”

  I laughed gently as I headed the craft due north, gradually increasing height and speed, “I didn’t have to override you, not even once. A few more goes and you’ll think nothing of it. You know damned well that there isn’t anything I can do with this craft that you cannot do.”

  “Maybe; but I’m a good deal slower than you are, Cassandra; and you do have that edge on me.” He replied as he took over again, wing-wracking the craft and opening up the super-stages.

  “You need practice; that’s all.” I replied, “You boys cosy in the back?”

  “It seems that way.” Bob told me, “Where are we?”

  “We’re over the Arctic coast.” James replied, “We’ll be there soon. How’s the jolly old eyeball doing?”

  “It tells me that there isn’t anybody down there; I’m inclined to take its word for it.” Frank replied mildly, “The jolly old white cold, Hel of the Scandinavians.”

  “Ask it about penguins and polar bears.” I instructed him, “Maybe it’s being fussy.”

  “We’re out of range.” Frank replied diagnostically, “Hold on; yes; an expedition using a lot of metal; snowmobiles, I guess.”

  “They are way behind us now.” Bob said sadly as they huddled over the monitor. I looked on its duplicate screen as the trace was left behind. “Bit to the right, go down twenty west.” I instructed James briefly,” So we can approach from the Atlantic coast.”

  “Right-ho, captain.” He agreed amiably, “Look, there’s a jet going backwards.” We all had a look at the long-range fighter going south-east; we were overhauling it so rapidly that it did look like it was flying backwards.

  “Three lads aboard that craft, eight missiles including two grandmother missiles, two ack-ack chain guns, tanks at half.
” Frank informed us laconically, “I’ll take the scanner’s word at it again but it seems likely that it’s accurate.”

  “There’s Cot D’or, or whatever.” James replied, “Swinging around now; shall I lose a bit of height and speed?”

  “Seems like a jolly good idea.” Bob agreed, “Five thousand and mach two; how does that sound?”

  “Coming up.” James replied, gentling the craft’s nose forwards and shutting down the ramjets. I adjusted the radio to overhear what was going on the local military frequencies, just in case anybody happened to see the Wren and wanted to know what it was doing there. Although there was little they could do about us passing over, I wanted to avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness. But the local frequencies didn’t help much, being in any number of languages other than English.

  “Try the international bands.” James suggested helpfully after getting an earful of gibberish, “They usually make a bit of sense.”

  The craft whistled through the terminator into the sudden African night. Bob and Frank were crooning over their scope, noting each image as it came up. At our low altitude we were out of the way of most large aircraft and there was not much traffic at night in the smaller departments. I followed the line of the coast as it swept past beneath us, seeing image after image enhanced and enlarged as the two behind followed each trace on the life and technology monitor. The wide band of life on the coast came to an end at length, gradually petering out into the bleak silvery gloom of the night-struck desert.

  I left James to his flying, responding to each suggestion that the two behind made. We discovered that the Wren could fly very slowly in her wing-wrack; she could crawl along at less than two hundred knots before she started showing a serious loss of lift. I kept a strict ear on government and military communications, the sensitive equipment tapping even the tighter bands with relative ease. The system onboard had a translator and encrypter; this made my task a lot easier. James unwracked the rotors, hovering at five hundred feet over what was a military base of some sort. Bob looked through his infra-red binoculars and confirmed each detail that Frank highlighted from the screen.