Turbulence juddered the small aircraft, rousing its sole passenger from her slumber. Beatrice groaned slightly, stretching herself out to relieve the stiffness from her limbs. Her tail in particular was suffering from pins and needles, having been leaned on for a while. Beatrice wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but the sun out the window was about to begin dipping below the horizon. As far as she could tell, it could have been hours.
Unbelting herself from her seat, Beatrice stood up, careful not to hit her head on the roof of the cramped cabin. Her whiskers twitched as she stepped into the middle of the walkway, the tallest part of the craft from ceiling to floor, and allowed herself a moment of comfort. She was a blonde-furred tabby cat, who stood a fraction of an inch over five feet in height, but was by no means one to be intimidated. She pulled a water bottle from her flight bag in the seat across the aisle and made her way the few short steps towards the cockpit.
Another round of slight turbulence knocked Beatrice off her stride, causing her to brace herself against the cabin walls before it stopped. She gingerly let go before she tapped the door. ``Come in,'' came a muffled voice, so she turned the handle and pushed the door slightly ajar.
``Ah,'' came a Cockney-accented voice as she leaned her head into the cramped flight deck. ``Yer' awake at last, mi'lady.''
``And quite disorientated, Bleathman,'' Beatrice replied, her voice a dramatic contrast to the pilot. Where his accent echoed an upbringing that was anything but regal, hers had all the airs and inflections of royalty. She was a Lady, after all, with a rich family tree she could trace back to the early days of British history.
Bleathman allowed himself a reserved chuckle. ``Well under the circumstances, you've `ad quite the reason to be. But we're nearly there, mi'lady, I reckon we'll be able to spot the island any minute now.''
Beatrice's ears perked slightly and she leaned her head into the cockpit further, squinting as she tried to look out through the windscreen. ``Are you certain? I can't see anything but ocean.''
``Quite certain, mi'lady. You go strap in, I'll need to do a fly-by before we land anyway. We're coming in from the South, and the instructions said the airstrip is on the North-West side.''
Beatrice nodded, closing the door to the cockpit and returning to her seat before taking a swig from the bottle of water. Bleathman was more than her pilot, but was also her chauffeur, butler, and from time-to-time, her bodyguard; when the situation called for it at least. It often made for an amusing photo whenever the paparazzi caught sight of her; a dainty, well dressed cat with a large hulking boxer dog in tow. He had proved his worth on countless occasions, and it didn't matter how often people brought up the cats versus dogs stereotype, it didn't hold a candle to Bleathman's unwavering loyalty. Beatrice was proud to employ him.
A few more minutes passed in relative silence, the only sound being the consistent whine of the jet engine. Beatrice began to wonder if Bleathman had simply been mistaken about their imminent arrival, but as she began to reach across the aisle to retrieve a book from her flight bag, his voice crackled through the PA system of the aircraft.
``Island in sight mi'lady, we'll do a fly-by on the right side.''
Beatrice quickly changed seats to the right side of the plane, tossing her bag haphazardly into the seat she'd previously been sat in. The mysterious circumstances she'd been invited under were about to be resolved, and curiosity won her over. She felt the aircraft slowly begin to tilt into a right banked turn. For a few moments she couldn't see anything but ocean skimming less than a thousand feet below them, but then the island drew into view, and Beatrice could only let out a quiet gasp.
It was beautiful, but fearsome. Crystal clear seas made way to crisp white beaches, illuminated orange in the setting sun, dotted with palm trees as if straight out of a holiday brochure. The beaches ended in sharp jagged cliffs, reaching upwards at a steep incline that seemed to almost completely encircle the island. As more of it drew into view, she could see the island itself was a sharp hilltop reaching several hundred feet out of the water, like someone had plucked the tip of a mountain and just dropped it there in the middle of the sea. The only interruption to the smooth slopes seemed to be a deep valley bisecting the mountain, and there she saw the house.
Perched on an ocean-side cliff and built into the edge of the valley, it was a modernist wonder-home. Arches coated in white stucco seemed to be there only to hold up the massive sheets of glass that made up three walls and ceiling of the impressive build. There was no need for a fourth wall, as the house appeared to be built into the cliff in a way that meant if the house had any further rooms, they would be carved into the stone. In front of the house was a large patio area, with several deckchairs scattered around. In front of the patio was a pool, one of the biggest she'd ever seen on someone's private property. She'd been to the Olympics before, and she'd guess that this pool was around the size of the pools she'd seen there. It ended right at the edge of the cliff, and Beatrice immediately decided that if she'd be swimming at all while she was here, she'd probably stick to the opposite end.
``Airstrip spotted, mi'lady. As expected, I'm gonna `ave to circle around to land.''
Beatrice fastened her seatbelt and pulled it tight, preparing herself for touchdown as they continued to circle. The rear of the island was devoid of any architecture, only having near vertical cliffs that defied any attempt at construction. She took note of the plane's descent, the ocean and beaches becoming much more visible as they came full circle. At a second pass from a lower angle, Beatrice spotted another building, perched on top of one of the tallest peaks of the island right behind the main house. It had been harder to notice from above, clad in browns that camouflaged it into the rocks, but at this altitude they were almost level with it. It was large and circular, with floor to ceiling windows in narrow strips, and it was hard to see from the distance but what looked to be bookshelves on the inside walls.
Beatrice made no attempt to hide the grin spreading across her face. An island with its own private library was an island she was going to like.
She glanced down again at the main house as the plane began to pitch back to the left, no doubt to line up for the landing. Being closer to touchdown, she had a better view, and in the instant that she was looking at the house, she caught a glance at movement in the pool. Though hard to see clearly, it looked like someone swimming laps. She was denied an opportunity for further observation, as the banking aircraft cut off her line of sight. She cursed silently to herself, even from this high up she'd have liked to catch a glance at her host, whoever they might be.
As they levelled off again, Beatrice noticed her view of the island had shifted, in the distance she could see what she could only assume was the airstrip they were aiming for. To her, it seemed very contrary to the luxury buildings she'd seen already, a dusty length of tarmac lined on either side by a dozen or so palm trees. It didn't look terribly safe, but Bleathman was an veteran pilot. He'd served with the RAF for years with an almost spotless record, and was one of the best pilots his training school had ever put out. Sadly, his dishonourable discharge had cut that career short.
The minutes ticked away, and before Beatrice knew it, the tiny jet was touching down on the landing strip. The whole craft jolted aggressively on contact with the tarmac, but no rougher than the worst Beatrice had ever experienced. The butterflies in her stomach didn't stop dancing until the entire plane had slowed to a more subdued pace and the din of the engines had died down to a gentle whine. She breathed a sigh of relief when they came to a total stop, and the whole cabin fell into near-silence as the engines whined quieter and quieter until they too had stopped.
She rubbed her eyes as the cockpit door opened and Bleathman stepped out, ducking his head and making for a rather ridiculous sight in such a small cabin. He pulled the lever by the passenger exit, which let out a slight hiss as it swung downwards, becoming a set of stairs in the process. Beatrice stood and brushed her clothes off and Bleathman took her flight bag from the seat next to her.
``Shall we see what all the fuss is about before I fetch the rest of your bags, mi'lady?''
``Yes please Bleathman, if our host isn't anxious to meet us, I can assure you I am anxious to meet him.''
``Very good, mi'lady,'' Bleathman replied, stepping out into the setting sunlight. The sky was turning a deep orange now, and a distinct sea breeze swept through Beatrice's hair as she descended the steps. She regarded her surroundings, the palm trees on either side of the runway allowing only meters of space for the wingspan of the plane. She understood now why the letter she'd recieved had requested the smallest aircraft possible. It was lucky for her that her Learjet was adequate for the task.
To the front of the craft, at the end of the runway, was a vertical cliff face. A small taxiway veered off to the left, leading to a small hangar built into the rocky hillside, but the large sliding door was closed. Regardless, the letter had told them to sit here and await instructions.
As if on cue a small door to one side of the hangar opened, and a short figure shuffled out, gesturing them over with a quick wave. Beatrice grinned, her tail wagging in anticipation, as she made her way towards the figure with Bleathman in tow. As they approached, she began to see make out specific details of the figure. Male, as far as she could tell, with a long tail and covered in scales. She'd encounterd them before on her travels to Asia, strange looking creatures called pangolins. He appeared to be dressed in dark grey robes, ones that looked ceremonial. He bowed his head gently as she reached the door, a gesture she returned respectfully. Whoever was hosting them, it would be best not to offend them.
``Lovely weather for flying,'' the pangolin said. Beatrice had visited many places around the world, so her ear for accents was good. She would've said his was distinctly Malaysian.
``Yes it is, rather. We found the island easily enough, didn't we Bleathman?'' she said, turning towards her companion and receiving a polite nod in return. She was, however, surprised to turn back towards the pangolin to find him shaking his head disapprovingly. She felt her ears droop, worried that she had offended him somehow.
``Lovely weather for flying,'' he repeated, talking much more slowly and putting particular emphasis on each word, as if each of them held some kind of inherent significance.
``I don't... I'm not sure...'' she stuttered, looking back to Bleathman for support but only finding him able to shake his head, apparently as confused as she was. ``I got this letter, and...''
She trailed off. The words clicked in her head. She had heard them before, and she knew exactly who their mysterious host was.
``Yes, it is. But I prefer to keep my head out of the clouds.''
The pangolin grinned, apparently happy to have heard the right set of words. ``Lady Beatrice Charlton-Reed, welcome to Tyler Island.''
``William Tyler,'' she said, rolling her eyes. ``You know, I'll give him one thing, he always did like to play the mysterious. I suppose some things never change.''
``Mr. Tyler is my employer,'' the pangolin replied, bowing once again. ``You may call me Pembantu, his humble manservant, and I will be escorting you to the house. Please, leave your bags here, I will fetch them later.''
``What about the plane?'' Bleathman asked.
Pembantu waved his hand dismissively. ``It will be parked in our hangar for you, do not concern yourself. Now please, follow me.''
There was no chance to ask further questions before Pembantu scurried away back into the door, with surprising speed for someone so small. Beatrice followed, finding herself in the corner of a large hangar with several other jets about the same size as hers parked in it. To her left were the large doors that allowed them access to the runway, and on her right was the long corridor down which Pembantu was leading them. From what she could tell of the topography of the island from their fly-by, the corridor led deep underground.
``Mr Tyler?'' Bleathman asked Beatrice as the followed Pembantu, the corridor twisting and turning like a bowl of spaghetti. ``As in, the same Mr Tyler that-''
``That my father attended Oxford with, yes,'' Beatrice finished. ``They came up with that little coded message together when they would go hang-gliding. I never expected to hear it so far from England.''
``I wasn't aware you still `ad contact with him.''
``I must admit, I haven't heard from him in several years. I knew his company was doing well, but I wasn't aware he was doing this well. A private island is one thing, but these underground facilities must have cost a fortune.''
``Building only finished less than a month ago,'' Pembantu chimed in. ``Mr Tyler and friends move in just a couple of weeks ago.''
``And friends?'' Beatrice asked.
``You'll meet them shortly. Mr Tyler asked me to take you straight to see him when you arrived.''
``And do you know why he asked me here?'' Beatrice prodded.
``Business proposition, not my business to say exactly what though.''
``But you know what?''
``Hard to keep it secret living here,'' Pembantu said with a chuckle.
Eventually, after walking for what felt like miles, the corridor opened up into a small lobby area, complete with a large set of elevator doors that were already wide open and waiting for them. Pembantu gestured for them to enter, walking in after them. There were only three buttons for floors, of which he pressed two.
``Not coming with us?'' Bleathman noted.
Pembantu shook his head but gave a reassuring smile. ``Mr Tyler already told me what I need to know. Besides, it seems disrespectful to intrude on a long-awaited reunion.''
Beatrice smiled politely. `Long-awaited' wouldn't quite be how she'd describe it, but she was looking forward to seeing William again. It really had been a long time.
The elevator pinged as it reached its first floor, the doors opening to reveal another long corridor. However, instead of being perfectly straight, this one split off at several intervals. And at the end of it, Beatrice could make out what looked to be a lounge area with a bright orange backdrop. It took her a few seconds to work out that it was the sunset, so it must have been the poolside section of house she had seen from above.
Pembantu stepped out, before turning back towards the elevator and giving yet another bow. ``Worry not, Miss Charlton-Reed. All will be explained.''
She gave a polite nod in reply, as the doors closed again and they began to rise.
``Nervous, mi'lady?'' Bleathman asked.
``The last time I heard William's name mentioned, he was hardly in the right place mentally. I feared the worst for some time, but it was my father's business to check in on him, not mine.''
``And did he?''
``I don't know, Bleathman. If he did, he never told me about it.''
``I recall the newspaper headlines, wasn't he involved with the incident with the-``
The elevator stopped with another ping, and to Beatrice's glee, the doors swung open to reveal the library she had spotted from the plane. The whole room was circular, with full height windows revealing the breath-taking view outside, the whole island visible in a wide panorama. The inner wall went in a full circle as well, like the whole building was designed like a giant ring doughnut. The inner wall was comprised entirely of bookshelves, stretching off in each direction like a vast sea of knowledge. It took Beatrice a considerable amount of effort to maintain her composure.
The pair looked around, there was nobody in sight. In each direction was nobody and nothing, bookshelves to one side and windows to the other. At occasional intervals the odd pair of chairs could be seen set into small nooks on the inner wall, always with a large lamp hanging above them. It seemed an unusual clash, regal armchairs and vintage lamps in such a modern looking build, but it worked in its own way. Beatrice gestured for Bleathman to follow her down one side of the room. If their host was here, he wasn't making himself known.
The thick carpet of the room muffled their footsteps as they walked around the consistent curve. Bleathman took in the view out of the window, while Beatrice cast an experienced eye over the wide variety of books on the shelves. There were even some first editions here, books that on their own were essentially priceless. The pair finally caught eye of their host as they continued down the room, coming out where Beatrice assumed was the opposite side to the elevator.
William Tyler wasn't particularly unusual to the casual observer. The snow leopard was sat in one of the reading nooks with his eyes slowly scanning through the pages of a hefty looking tome. He was wearing a white linen shirt and trousers combination that reminded Beatrice of the eccentric park owner from Jurassic Park; all he needed was a hat and walking stick. Perched at the tip of his nose was a pair of small reading glasses, which made him look a lot older than he actually was.
He must have heard them approach, however quiet their footsteps, as he spoke loudly without even glancing up from his book, the Californian twang in his voicing stirring many memories from Beatrice's childhood. ``Know from the bounteous heaven all riches flow, and what mortals give, the gods by mortals bestow.''
Beatrice grinned. ``Yet taught by time, my heart has learned to glow, for others' good and melt at others' woe,'' she finished. ``The Odyssey of Homer, book... eighteen I believe?''
William closed his book, grinning up at her. ``Top marks, Beetroot,'' he exclaimed, still apparently under the impression his nicknames were a divine gift, and not a divine annoyance. ``It's been too long kiddo, and that's on me. Please, sit down,'' he said, gesturing to the empty seat next to him.
Beatrice obliged him, making herself comfortable in the large leather armchair that almost seemed to swallow her as she sat down. Bleathman, ever wary, moved into position just to the side of her, causing William to raise a curious eyebrow.
``Introductions, I think,'' Beatrice said, noting the slight rise in tension. ``William, meet Frederick Bleathman. Butler, chauffeur, pilot, even bodyguard when I need him to be. I don't go anywhere without him.''
William smiled, resting the large book on the floor and leaning forward in his chair to reach out his paw. ``Pleased to meet ya,'' he said. Bleathman took a few steps forward and took William's paw in his own, giving it a quick shake and a cursory nod.
Leaning back in his seat, William gave an uneasy chuckle. ``Not much of a talker, is he?''
``He's being reasonably cautious.'' Beatrice replied, waving her paw dismissively. ``We've flown to an island in the middle of nowhere under instructions from a mysterious unsigned letter, finding ourselves in a strange house with a man he's never met before. I think suspicion is a reasonable state of mind right now.''
William shrugged. ``Can't argue with that. I hope you'll forgive the secrecy, but it was necessary, I promise you.''
``Yes, your assistant mentioned some kind of business proposition?''
``Of sorts. And in some way as well, I'm keeping a promise I made to your father.''
Beatrice tried to answer, but her voice caught in her throat. No sound came out.
William talked gently, knowing he was treading on thin ice with this subject. ``I... I can't begin to express how sorry I was to hear it. He was a wonderful person, my best friend for many years. Without him, I don't think I'd have made it through Oxford in one piece.''
Still unable to formulate an answer, Beatrice gave a grateful nod, before taking a moment to wipe at her eyes.
``Over the years we discussed many ideas,'' William continued. ``And one of them he begged me to let him be a part of, if and when I ever got it off the ground. At the time we were just kids, but these were our hopes and dreams we were discussing, and I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather bring on board. My biggest regret is that he isn't around to see it come to fruition. And so it falls to you, if you want it.''
Finally composing herself, Beatrice formulated an question. ``What falls to me?''
``Do you ever think about technology, how far we've come?'' William asked, seemingly dismissing Beatrice's question.
She replied with an indifferent shake of her head.
``One hundred years ago, we were astonished by the fact that we could get television in colour. Fifty years later, not only did we have it in colour, but we could watch hours and hours of it from our phones, tiny little handheld devices with seemingly limitless possibilities. Mammals, we always strive to develop, to build, to make a comfier world for ourselves. Imagine what else we'll have in fifty years, or what we have now that might seem obsolete then.''
``I don't underst-``
``And yet,'' William cut Beatrice off, as he reached for the nearest shelf and pulled out a small folder. ``We still suffer from disasters. Mine collapses, avalanches, tsunamis, earthquakes, plane crashes, the list goes on!'' As he listed off each horrible type of event he flicked through the pages of the folder, which Beatrice could see were newspaper clippings. ``Why can't we help our fellow creatures?'' William asked.
``We do,'' Beatrice replied. ``We have fire and ambulance services, the police protect us from criminals, we have people who do their duties.''
William responded by flipping back through the file, pulling out the first piece of paper and passing it to Beatrice. ``Germany, about twenty years ago. A dam collapsed and flooded a nearby mine, twenty nine miners were killed in the immediate disaster but about twenty one survived, though they were trapped underground. Now, in a scenario like this, what would you guess would be the most valuable resource to anyone attempting to free the miners?''
Beatrice paused. ``A very big drill?''
``Try again.''
``Oxygen equipment?''
``Think on a much grander scale.''
Bleathman finally broke his silence. ``Time?''
``Bingo,'' William replied with a click of his fingers. ``Time is so important in a crisis like this because you have absolutely no idea how much of it you have. Those miners were trapped for fourteen days before a suitable drill was located and brought to the site by rail. In that time, ten of the miners succumbed to their injuries. Had suitable equipment been there within a day or two all of the survivors could had escaped.''
``But you said this was twenty years ago,'' Beatrice interjected. ``Surely things have improved since then?''
``Read through that and tell me that's the case.'' William explained bluntly. ``Everything is as safe as it can be until it isn't, in any industry. The problem with constantly pushing new ideas and technologies is you don't know where that leads. Everyone used to think nuclear power was the way forward and was the fuel of the new age, look where that led. Technology is a wonderful thing, but it can also be utterly terrifying.''
``So where does this involve you and your proposal?''
William pulled an envelope from his pocket and passed it to Beatrice. Ripping open the seal, she found herself holding a few pages stapled together, each one emblazoned with paragraphs of writing in tiny font, going into what looked like very explicit detail. At the bottom of each page was a few blank spaces for her to write her name, signature, and the date.
``A non-disclosure agreement, are you quite serious?'' Beatrice asked.
``I'm afraid so. What I want to show is beyond top secret, only a handful of people know about what we have here. Even the President herself has very limited knowledge of it.''
``And this agreement entails?''
``That if you speak one word about anything you've seen on this island, you'll be liable to be imprisoned for life without parole under the Global Secrets act of the United Nations.''
Beatrice widened her eyes and leaned back in her chair, the gravity of the situation hitting her full force. She wondered what she was getting herself into.
``I'd hoped my solemn oath alone was sufficient, but if it's what it takes to find out what on earth is going on around here, so be it,'' she said, resigning herself to the madness of the situation.
William passed along a pen, and Beatrice spent a few minutes skim reading through each page and signing at the bottom. Despite the rather blunt and dramatic summary of what the documents promised, it was all rather standard, and being a veteran socialite, it was nothing she hadn't had to sign before.
``I trust that you're happy now,'' she said, capping the pen and returning it with the signed documents back to William.
``Very happy,'' he replied. ``But rather than telling you why you're here, I think it'd be best to show you first. We'll start off by letting you meet the team.''
``The team?''
William tapped the face of his watch, which to Beatrice's surprise let out a small holographic display hovering just a few inches from the glass. Scrolling through a short list, William selected an option, spending a few seconds navigating the menus before the display showed an icon resembling a small phone. A few seconds later, the phone icon turned green.
``You're through to number one,'' came a voice from the watch. Beatrice was surprised to hear the woman on the other end of the line was British, and sounded out of breath.
``Ah, Tara,'' William exclaimed. ``We've got the visitor here I was discussing with you earlier, where are you?''
``In the gym, about halfway though my ten k's for today.''
``Do you mind if we head down for a chat?''
``More the merrier, boss. If you see Sasha though, tell her to bring the mugs down from her room. There's sod all left in the kitchen.''
William laughed. ``If she's actually ventured out of her room, I'll tell her. See you in five.''
``Cheerio.''
William tapped the phone icon again, turning it red, and with a swipe of his paw the entire holographic display disappeared. ``Shall we?''
``I didn't know you liked the English ones, William,'' Beatrice said with a smirk as she stood up.
``Trust me, I'm about done with women for this lifetime. Besides, you'll see when we meet her, she's way below my age range.'' He hopped out of his chair, and began striding confidently back towards the elevator.
``So, you called them a team,'' Bleathman noted, following Beatrice's lead as the pair walked behind William. ``What kind of team, exactly?''
``At the moment, a disorganised one,'' William admitted. ``But they've got potential.''
``To do what?''
William turned back to face them, grinning like a giddy child. It looked as if he'd been waiting all his life to say this one line.
``To save the world.''
R.E.S.C.U.E
Chapter One - The Island
