by Konig, Artor
But he drifts into the void yet and I do not know even now if he perished by the rupturing of his craft’s reactor or if he was spared his end in that explosion and is simply drifting out into the void, deprived of will or power. That maybe it was the alien’s craft exploding that I saw, for explode the nose of it did, and the Doctor passed beyond with his craft damaged, maybe to perish in that dragging way while yet I had the means to secure him. These reckless thoughts taunt me, knowing that I have not the power to stay them.
The ring annoys me; it feels tight and uncomfortable though the band was slightly too large for me. I try to pull it off but the slick metal will not yield, the band will not pass my knuckle. Behind me I hear a chuckle, far off and ethereal; maybe just a restless seabird distracted by my continued presence.
I turn and walk briskly back up the wide face of stone, across the courtyard and up the steps to the kitchen. I walk briskly through the doors into the hall, down into the narrow stairway, down to the white, clean and cold laser laboratory. The lights are harsh against my eyes as the fluorescent tubes flicker and flash, then take on their solemn duties. I make my way to the laser workbench, that one against the far wall. The sphere of gold; the time has come, I feel, to do something about that. I put on the orange goggles, clamping the sphere into place and programming the tight-beamed laser. The u. v. beam is invisible, but where that micron-wide ray touches the sphere there is a brilliant spot of light. The dot travels swiftly across the sphere; vapour drifts up, offending my nose.
The job done; the two hemispheres parted. It is a mineral pomegranate; golden, hard shell, fiercely red heart, the stone and metal fiercely polished by that hot beam. I open the stores, finding gold wire in plenty. The job is long and hard but the tiny strong hinge is made, the catch secured and the little loop to secure this novel locket from my chain, a pendant not quite as heavy as my heart. I am not a goldsmith by trade; but this is within my scope.
I notice that my hands are slick with sweat after this long labour and I react spontaneously, pulling the damp spider ring off my finger in a smooth movement, though the golden band contracts and pinches the last joint, bruising my nail. I ignore the pain, putting the ring, now half its former size, onto the table. I take the ring from one machine to the next, finally understanding why I have been standing idle like this, neglecting the Wren, neglecting upper control, neglecting my last duty. The ring, with its betraying signal and suggestive influence, I melt down under the angry laser beams. Then I go up the steps to upper control; then down the stairs; those now not so unpleasant stairs. The locket with its fierce red heart goads me on as I understand what is expected of me. The mighty Wren is girded for gigantic war, the inertialess drive repaired and the damaged parts replaced; there is no hurry now, not any more. She accepts the load I place within her, careful to strap everything down. There is even a bit of fruit left but not much. It hasn’t to last long, however.
Then back up to my study; to finish this account as far as I can. After I’ve finished typing this report up I’ll open Byrtle's window, make myself one last hot meal and a last cup of tea; then I’ll go. Up there into the void of dark and enchanting blue light, to meet them deep in space, to find and face them one final time, to destroy as many of them as I can before they finally get me. But I'll take enough of them with me so that the four laser stations won’t have much to do. Then I’ll go into the blue light one last time; to see if I can find him, wherever he might be.
Sorrelharn Publications
Email: [email protected]
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.sorrelharn.com
Cassandra 1: Broken Wing
Cassandra 2: Broken Heart
Cassandra 3: Devil’s Daughter
