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

by Konig, Artor

  “That was his job.” I said lightly, “Keeping an eye on poor old humanity, relaying his information back to those ships. We should have a look out for whatever he was using to get his messages through; it must be one hell of a transmitter to reach craft which were so far away and going so fast.”

  “That’s a thought; we’ll have to have a look at his pad and see just what we can learn about those miserable specimens. It’ll help as well when it’s time for me to go out there after them.”

  “Us, Doctor; when we go out there after them.” I told him gently, “I thought I’d already made that point clear to you. You’re not going to have all the fun to yourself.” He laughed uproariously then took my hand, “Thank you, Cassandra; I owe you so much since right at the beginning. I just hope I don’t repay you by cutting your promising career and your life short. That I don’t want, whatever else happens.”

  “Just debug the Wrens and do any tightening up of which you can think; maybe paint them black or something; I’m sure we’ll give them a bit of the old whizz-bang and nuclear hellfire.” I told him.

  “The thing is I’m quite certain that the hub would hold up even under that additional stress he cooked up. I think we should take the craft to bits and examine them for any other booby traps. He was a devilishly cunning worker; make no mistake about that. He did something else to give him the assurance that his plot worked. But tell me; what made you suspect that he wasn’t just a doddering old man as he wanted us to believe?” He asked me curiously.

  “It was a number of tiny details; but the main thing was the smell in his room; it was a compound of man-smell and that spider stench we passed through when we went through the lair. It wasn’t much, but it told me that he either had those creatures in his room or he was one himself. And on top of that, there was the actual appearance of those spiders; he turned out to be just the same as the other two but much bigger. The other two were about the same size as each other. And from what I remember from my biology is that spiders of different sexes are of different sizes; the larger being the female, the smaller being the male. But in spiders the chromosomes are the reverse of your mammals; so the female is the XY and the smaller males are XX. It then occurred to me that those smaller spiders were also shape-shifters like him, turning into two pretty little girls who did all his household work and generally looked after him. After all, the boys are not too good at cleaning up after themselves and his little suite was rather too large and too clean for him to have done it by himself.”

  The Doctor nodded, listening critically, his eyes far away,

  “Then the eggs?” He asked.

  “His eggs.” I replied.

  “Thank goodness the boys managed to break them all.” The Doctor mused “And thank God you managed to catch onto his scheme. His spider-form may have been in the process of producing more of those eggs. After all if he had two pretty ladies to attend to him all the time, there’s no knowing of what went on. Anyway, it’s a damned near thing as it is. It’s thanks to you that we’ve managed to pull through ourselves; that we didn’t fall prey to their foul plots.” He nodded to me as he finished his tea.

  We sat in silence for a short while longer before he took himself away with a certain amount of reluctance. I watched him go, knowing that he would not sleep; not just yet. He would get back to upper control and have another good worry at the problems he had almost cracked. But I was finished; my energy was at the end; there was nothing left for me to work with. I dragged myself up to my room, showered and changed, before throwing myself into bed; forlornly aware of the emptiness of the little room next to mine; the emptiness of the castle as a whole.

  The night was full of sounds; I could not sleep well or deeply for all I was weary. I didn’t toss and turn; at least I don’t think I did. For a start, the memory of those spiders was at that time coming back to me, the shock of the past day delicately translated into nightmares the moment sleep came over me. Further I had suddenly acquired the conviction that there was another of the huge spiders somewhere in my room; probably watching me from the couch by the window, waiting for me to make a move so it could jump.

  I knew enough about spiders to realise that their sight was rather poor; wherever it was it wouldn’t attack until I made some sort of move. Although the spider, if there was one, didn’t make any noise, there were enough other sounds to keep me on edge throughout the night, especially the class of noise I could attribute to giant spiders. I kept as still as possible until well after midnight before what little rest I’d had allowed me to do a bit of reasoning. I listened carefully, taking each sound and pinning a known source to it; the wind rattling the window I hadn’t shut properly; the wind rustling through the creepers, the wind causing the vines to drag on the window panes, the sound of the sea far below, the rustle of the wind in the jungle trees below the castle walls. There was no sound in the room itself.

  Nevertheless I moved my hand very slowly and carefully towards the light switch. The small blue lamp bathed the room with its cheerful glow, the somewhat cool light showing nothing out of the ordinary in my room. I heaved a massive sigh before berating myself for my foolish fear. It was then, looking around my room, feeling the sighs of the old castle, hearing the desolate plaint of the wind, that the true weight of my loss, the true shock of all that had passed, came over me in a cold wave, a breath of arctic chill for which there was no answer. I lay back on my pillows, a heartache suddenly noticed, the heat of my tears barely making themselves felt through the cold and the horror that pressed down on my mind. Seventeen people who had shared my entire life for these past few months removed so thoroughly that the finality of it all was unanswerable.

  The horror of that past morning’s doings added their burden; the treachery of the Master, the power of his personality, the vampire-like leeching of the Doctor’s knowledge and my courage, that final moment when I realised that my future and very life was squarely in my own hands, the terror of that final battle; but the first of the new war in which I was now involved; I could see no end, not to my terror or anything else.

  The most distressing factor of my discomfort was the perceived change in the Doctor. He was not the same for this day’s brutal strafing. It wasn’t as if he was actually suffering from his terrible losses; that I could understand, the changes I could see well enough. But there was something more, something deeper that had altered the way he acted, the way he seemed to be going. It was something I could not identify, beyond the assumption that he had seriously taken up the Master’s idea of a planet-wide network of space-borne lasers. It was something that I knew he was well able to design and with the equipment he had at the Crag, he could probably get it all made as well.

  What he would eventually do with such a system I didn’t like to think about; it occurred to me that it would be the cat’s whiskers as a defence against invaders, especially if each station had a scanning system. I decided that I would suggest that idea to him in the hope that it would distract him from bizarre notions of world conquest. After all, it would have to be controlled by means of radio and radio waves were rather easy to trace to their source. This thought, rather obvious though it seemed to be, took me a long time to think out; only a symptom of my weariness and gloomy state of mind. It had a reassuring ring of some brand of reason to it; and its elusive flavour helped me to get off to sleep.

  The comlink didn’t awaken me the next morning; I hadn’t set it that night anyway. Neither did the sun; my room was facing west and there wasn’t all that much sun about anyway. The wind and rain tapping at my window would have awoken me had I not been so tired and wrung out. But what did get to me was a rather hearty bellow of thunder from somewhere up aloft. My first waking thought was dismay because I had forgotten to set the bread makers; how was I going to feed so many? It came hazily back into focus and I realised that the bread left from yesterday’s bake would last the Doctor and I for a good while. I resolved then that June’s motto, ‘as quick and as simple as possible’, no
longer applied. I would not have all that much to do while the Doctor was working on his plans, and we’d both need our strength when it came to getting things done later on, so it would be worth my time to pay a bit more attention to the finer details of my cooking than I had before.

  I struggled up in the darkness of my room, grasping my dressing gown and peering sandily at the comlink. It informed me that it was twenty-five past four and then some seconds but I was not in the mood required to snuggle up and have another quick nap. I’d had a good ten hours sort-of sleep; that would be enough. I trotted busily into the shower, hearing the fury of the rain from beyond the window. I opened the window slightly, received an eye-full of wet, making out very little of the courtyard. The flood lights were on, as were some of the lights on the fifth and sixth level of the roundhouse. The keep itself and all I could see of the northeast tower were in darkness. Thus, as far as I was concerned, they would remain. Not for anything would I go into either the keep or the northeast tower again; I had neither reason nor heart for it.

  I showered quickly, digging out another of my dwindling supply of clean tracksuits. I decided that since it was nice and early I would put the wash on and get it out of the way. Maybe before noon I would be able to hang it out; that I couldn’t do at the moment. I discovered a neglected pile of clean washing by the foot of my bed and shoved it into my cupboard. I had never had the time for hangers and their associated problems; I saw nothing wrong about my dependence on drawers. I scooped up the discarded clothes from yesterday and trotted down to the kitchen. It didn’t take me too long to get the wash on. I turned on the two-way link on the comlink and was slightly reassured by the sound of somewhat melodic heavy breathing. It didn’t take me too long to pinpoint the source as the Doctor’s room. I turned off the comlink, absurdly pleased that for the first time I had actually awoken before him.

  I opened the kitchen door, poking my nose hopefully out into the cold world beyond, still clad in its shroud of a wild and windy night. The rain rebuffed me firmly; I wasn’t going to be hanging the washing out for a good long while. It was a painful thing; most of the wash belonged to those as would not be having any further use for it; only a few garments belonged to the Doctor or me. I pottered around the kitchen, wondering what to do next, before it occurred to me that a pot of tea wouldn’t be unwelcome. I opened the covered door under its awning leading to the keep; from there I managed to harvest a generous handful of jasmine and honeysuckle tea. It was while doing that small task that I noticed the ring on my finger; the spider ring. I dumped flowers and tea into the pot, poked the urn to see how hot it was, then sat down at the table and had a jolly good look at the ring.

  That small golden band was slightly wider where the grey emblem cast its murky shadow. I didn’t know then what metal had been used to make that small grey spider, or how much trouble had been taken to ensure the surfaces were so perfectly flush that the symbol could not be detected by touch. The spider was rendered in accurate detail; a fairly ordinary crab-spider with slightly shorter legs than was proper. Who had made it or why were mysteries about which I had no clue. But the ring fitted fairly well on my second finger; so I had no complaints about that. I turned away from the band to attend to the urn which was hissing and bubbling explosively in its quiet little corner. It occurred to me then that boiling the urn and filling the generous teapot was rather wasteful, everything considered. I resolved to find alternatives. There was a smaller teapot, but I didn’t know whether or not a smaller electric kettle had been included in the Crag’s inventory.

  There was a stove-sort of kettle but that didn’t appeal to me. I was used to the urn anyway and it did make things a lot easier to have a good supply of hot water on hand. I emptied the first load from the washing machine and shoved the rest in, wondering how long the damp clothes would sit in their basket before I was presented with the opportunity of hanging them out. It seemed likely that I would have to resort to hanging the whole bundle in the scullery. I ignored the problem and turned my mind instead to the blessed virtues of a solid cup of tea. Halfway through the second mug-full I once again peered hopefully out of the kitchen door but the weather was just as foul as before. I beguiled half an hour by hanging the first load in the scullery; by the time that was done the second load was ready to be hung out as well.

  At that point the desolation of the castle came home to me; the world beyond the windows was dark, the wind and the rain over the ocean knew no let, the derelict air of the castle, for all it was entirely functional, came back to haunt me. At the very least June would have been pottering around in the kitchen, maybe Jim and the Doctor as well. Each person would take on one of the morning routines, or if there was nothing to be attended to, the extras would sit or stand around the kitchen, offering reams of left-handed advice, talking and gossiping or brooding on the weather; it was unheard of that I struggle with this lonesome labour that I knew on that cold and dark morning. I sighed a small sigh as I hung up the last of the washing, wondering if, when and what I should start on breakfast. I knew perfectly well that the Doctor didn’t sleep all that much as a general rule but it occurred to me that if he had just knocked off after what must have been a frightful night he wouldn’t appreciate being awoken for an unwanted meal.

  But on the other hand he wouldn’t want to oversleep. On the whole however I decided that he ought to be allowed to sleep as much as he felt was necessary. It was certainly none of my business to wake him up, I decided at length. I heaved the basket back into the kitchen, plonking it down beside the washing machine.

  “Yer daft, yer are!” Byrtle told me virtuously as I dished out some seed and water for him. I scratched him on the poll, assuring him that he was just as daft as I was. He took this in good spirit, turning his attention to the world outside. “Blerry awful.” He concluded aptly, picking at his ear with one of his clawed feet.

  I left him to whatever thoughts he was entertaining and went into the cold-room to dig up something to eat. I found an open but otherwise neglected packet of bacon and hauled it out. There were no fresh eggs but there was a generous supply of powdered egg; powdered almost anything as well. I shoved the packet down on the counter and turned on the gas range.

  The door burst open letting in a fierce draft of cold and wet; I spun round as the Doctor shut the door after him. He was dripping with moisture. It took him a few minutes to work up the spirit enough to drag off his weatherproofs; I dashed forth to help him at once.

  He nodded a quiet greeting at me, accepting the tea I thrust into his hands. He trotted off to the range, holding his free hand over the flame. I bounced across a few questions about breakfast, receiving little feedback. I finally resolved to fall back on his apparent favourite; this I had already started on before he had arrived.

  “I’ve done the groundwork and the planning for the Wrens; I’ll want your help this morning to start on Number One. We must have both of them repaired as soon as possible. We’ll have to pull the hubs to pieces; take down the rotors and check them thoroughly. There are pulleys and tools down below but there are other tools which we shall have to bring down from the lab on level one.” He told me as he watched me set the table. A new pot of tea had been brewed, the last having gone cold. The steam from his mug wreathed up about his face as he explained just what he intended to do that morning. Half of what he said made sense; the rest, concerned with the reactor and the inertialess drive, didn’t mean all that much to me. I let him prattle on, attending to my work quickly. We ate the meal at a calm pace; that day at least there wasn’t a big rush to get things done.

  After the meal was over and the dishes shoved into the dishwasher to accumulate, we went down the stairs to the first level of the cellars. The door from the cellars to the courtyard had been left open; the floor of that first room was somewhat damp. I shut the door, then hurried after the Doctor as he walked swiftly towards the laboratory complex. There within he found himself a generous pile of tools and instruments; enough to call for two t
rips down to the Nest. Some of the tools I recognised easily enough from my own days of aircraft maintenance, the rest were of scarcely discernable use. I helped him to load himself up before heaving up as much of the remaining bundle as I could manage. There was annoyingly little left to come back for, but I regretted taking so much upon myself before I was halfway down the tortuous helical staircase.

  I was hot and sweating before I unloaded myself beside Number One, where the Doctor was already busy. I looked at him for a moment as he moved about within the craft before sighing to myself and turning about to fetch the rest of the gear. By the time I had returned from that trip he had finished whatever he had set himself to do inside the craft and had started on the second one, Number Three.

  He noticed my arrival and asked me to go up to the catwalk where the pulley’s controls were and let the chain down to the midpoint of the leading rotor of Number One. I deposited my handful of gear and trotted off obediently. The electric motor answered at once to its switch though I had not seen the machine in use since I had first set foot in the Nest. I peered carefully at the controls, not entirely familiar with the device. After a few moments I had it whirring busily along its beam in more or less the correct direction. I jockeyed it into position before letting the pulley itself down until its chain touched the rotor gently.

  By the time I had completed that task the Doctor was on his way over the floor to fasten the rotor to that chain. He clambered up the side of the Wren with the ease of long practise. He hauled himself up onto the hub then walked along the length of the wide rotor to where the chain rested on its silvery surface. He lashed the rotor into place quickly but with endless precision exactly around the rotor’s centre of gravity.