A quiet symphony of footsteps echoed through the corridor; William's long, confident strides, Beatrice's brisk dainty steps and Bleathman's wide lumbering stomps. The thought amused William as he led the trio away from the elevator and towards the gym area. From his peripheral vision he saw his companions looking in curiosity at their surroundings, and he didn't blame them. The interior decoration was unusual to say the least.
At their feet, echoing the noise of their footsteps, high grade nanocarved acacia flooring. Sustainably sourced, naturally. Being thousands of miles in the middle of nowhere, William had reasoned that home comforts were easily justified, and he was right. The wood, though heavily polished (and kept religiously clean by Pembantu) felt warm to his pawpads. Balanced with the heavy-duty air conditioning keeping the tropical climate strictly outside the buildings of the island, it was a fine combination. Where the wood panelling met the walls though, that was where things became less typical. If you could call them walls.
The path to their destination was set in stone, literally, as the walls were cave walls. Solid stone arching over their heads, formed randomly and unceasing in its lack of uniformity, though somehow seeming to have a sense of order in the directions they led. For all the randomness though, the caves were consistent in height, and should anyone view the floorplan for the villa they may consider the layout of rooms and corridors to be fairly neat and organised. William was grateful for the architects he knew, achieving this with hundreds of feet of rock above them was no small feat. As William led the group around a corner, they passed by a shiny black cluster of obsidian buried into the side of the wall. One subtle hint to the destructive history the island held.
Keeping the homely feel in what amounted to a luxury cavern were a number of suburban touches. LED chandeliers hung down at regular intervals, illuminating the twisting chambers while also casting wonderful shadows on the walls, dark and light patches determined by the rough texture of rock. Periodically spaced out as well were various bookshelves and display cabinets, each one set up to show off an assortment of photos and knick-knacks, many of which William looked upon with nostalgia for his days in the Air Force and the International Space Agency. Various larger photo frames could also be found embedded in the rocky walls every now and then, displaying nostalgic photos from William's past: a wheat field in Kansas, the campus at Oxford University, and even choppy waves looking over the Pacific Ocean. In amongst the unusual d?cor it was actually easy to miss the various doors they were passing.
``You've certainly gone for a... unique touch with your interior decoration here,'' Beatrice noted. Her long pause and tone of voice on the word `unique' was as subtle as an airhorn at a snooker match.
``Make no mistake, Beatrice,'' William explained. ``I'm not a young guy anymore. I've moved houses enough times, this time I hope will be the last. And I wanted to make sure if it's the last time, then it's a house I want to spend the rest of my life in.''
``House?'' Bleathman asked with a chuckle. ``More like a fallout shelter down `ere.''
Beatrice laughed too. ``And I don't think someone only in their fifties is allowed to make comments along the lines of `I'm not a young guy'''
``Well what can I say, I'm a modest guy too. And there's more than one reason for the fallout shelter vibe, mainly I happen to like the aesthetic, but of course there's more to it than that. You may be more right than you realise. In fact this island houses many secrets. And I will show you them, naturally, but first you need to meet everyone else who calls this island a home.''
Beatrice and Bleathman shared a mutual confused glance as William stopped at a set of double doors, the last set but one before the winding corridor ended at what appeared to be a t-junction. William smirked as he always did as he observed the comical doodles scrawled on each door; a rat struggling to lift a pair of dumbbells on the left, and a horse frantically trying to keep pace on a treadmill on the right.
``For everyone who lives here, I have just two conditions that they need to agree to,'' he explained, looking back over his shoulder. ``The first is that a basic level of fitness is reached and maintained. To that end, there are a number of facilities on this island specifically for that purpose.''
``And the other condition?'' Beatrice asked.
``Later,'' William replied, pushing through the doors and leading his guests into the gym. An aggressive wave of cool air washed over the trio as the doors slammed shut behind them, not uncomfortable but pleasant, like a summer breeze just after nightfall.
As the echo of the doors closing finished reverberating around the room, William's ears twitched and honed in on another sound, a continuous clomp clomp clomp coming from behind a row of exercise bikes. True to her word, the subject of their visit was running on the treadmill,, taking a fast but gentle pace, conserving her energy for the final sprint William knew she liked to program in to the course. She was facing away from the doors but it was clear from her ear twitches that she was more than aware of their presence. William gestured for Beatrice to take the lead, following her and Bleathman through the winding route between weight benches and cross-trainers that led to the row of treadmills, the occupied one being right at the far end.
It was occupied by a donkey. That much was immediately apparent, her large ears and long ropey tail being hard to mistake as anatomy of many other species. She was tall even without counting the ears, skinny but muscular, light grey all over with an even lighter patch of grey running from her muzzle all the way down to her belly. Her black mane bounced as she ran, clearly showing off the brilliant blue tips that decorated her fringe. A similar patch on the tip of her tail almost resembled a used paintbrush. The clomping of her hooves meeting the treadmill grew louder and louder as her visitors approached, her dislike of training footwear being apparent, a dislike not uncommon among equines. Donkey hooves were notoriously much tougher than those of horses, the majority not even bothering with horseshoes unless for fashion reasons.
It took a small amount of restraint for William to not fan his nose as they drew up next to her; even in the cool air she was drenched in sweat. Her outfit of choice, a matching lycra set of crop top and hot pants in neon yellow, was completely soaked through. She'd clearly been in the gym a while today, not just on the treadmill.
``Lady Beatrice, Bleathman, meet Tara Mulrose.'' William announced, Tara glancing over her shoulder at them and giving a polite nod. ``One of the finest pilots the Royal Air Force has ever produced. She can more or less fly just about anything with wings.''
``And several things without,'' Tara added cheekily, her ragged voice betraying her composure. Her face was deadly serious, eyes on the prize, determined to keep going. But to hear her talk made it quite clear she was running on fumes.
``Military discipline,'' William noted. ``Once you set that in stone it's hard to break out of a person. Mix in a bit of naturally-sourced stubborn determination, and you've got yourself one potent mix. Come on Tara, enough showing off, you can call it a day now.''
``I'm two k's short of my daily target.''
``Well I daresay from the wet towel draped over one of the cross trainers, you've been doing a lot more than just running today. You've filled your quota for this week already, come on.'' William was still learning about the people he now shared a home with, but one of the first things he'd learned about some of them was exactly where their pressure points were. ``Call it a day. That's an order, soldier.''
With a reluctant groan, Tara slapped the big red stop button on the treadmill console, slowing her pace as the belt at her hooves began to grind to a halt. When it fell just below jogging speed, she stopped in place, allowing the motion of the treadmill to push her backwards and off it, landing gracefully on the floor with a double clop of her hooves meeting the wood. No longer obscured by the loud running, her heavy breathing was much more apparent.
``Royal Air Force?'' Bleathman asked. ``Where were you stationed?''
``Boscombe Down,'' she replied in her southern British drawl with a hint of cockney, reaching out to shake hands with both Beatrice and Bleathman ``Bloody lovely little town there, only about an hours drive from home too, though right near Stonehenge so roads were a nightmare around solstice time.''
``I thought they were a non-combat squad?'' Beatrice asked, stretching her very limited knowledge of the RAF.
``Indeed they are,'' Tara confirmed, grabbing a towel off the top of a nearby pile and vigorously massaging her mane with it. ``See, what pilots call the `right stuff', well, I've got that in droves. Bloodlust though, that's where I fall down. All the reports from my superiors said the same about me, best flier of my generation but no head for combat. They had me shuttling for a couple of months, delivering aircraft all over Europe, until a post opened up at Boscombe. Stress testing commercial and military aircraft, now that's something I can do.''
``That's where I found her,'' William chimed in. ``I was attending a public air show there with some good friends in the British government. Aircraft coming in one after another, all shapes and sizes doing loops and barrel rolls, it was spectacular. Of course when I found out that all the most jaw dropping displays had been performed by a single pilot, I had to meet them.''
``When you're doing your dream job, last thing you expect is someone to turn up and make a better offer. Just a few days after the show and I was no longer one of his majesty's pawns,'' Tara added, her voice becoming less out-of-breath with every word.
``Wait wait wait,'' Beatrice interjected, waving her paws. ``You mean to tell me that William had you pulled from active military duty in a matter of days. Not even court martials are that fast.''
Tara shrugged. ``It's above my pay grade.''
``Look, Beatrice,'' William said. ``When I tell you I have friends and contacts within the British government, even under the non-disclosure agreement you signed it's better that I don't name names, but just believe me when I say that these are top government officials.''
Beatrice took a step back. William could tell by the look on her face that she was struggling to process everything. Meanwhile Tara, as if only just noticing herself, lifted an arm and gave a very un-ladylike sniff of her armpit, her rapid recoil being a clear enough reaction. She stank, and she was now very much aware of it.
``Yeah, I think I'm gonna hop in the shower,'' she said sheepishly.
William nodded. ``I think that's probably a good idea. I was hoping for a proper discussion, but I think Beatrice here really needs a sit down and a cold drink. And you smell like an ass, so go get yourself cleaned up. We'll meet you in the lounge when you're done.''
``You're stealing my jokes now, boss,'' Tara teased, strolling towards the door while unceremoniously flipping the bird at William without even glancing back. ``That's dangerous territory.'' Mid-walk, she gave her face a vigorous rub with the towel, pushing through the double doors with her hip and trotting out into the corridor.
``She's a character, she is,'' William explained with a timid rub of the back of his head. ``She takes some getting used to... well, everyone on the island does. But she's got a big heart. And she's gone through a lot to get here.''
He cast a concerned eye over to Beatrice, whose face was still treading the fine line somewhere between confusion and shock.
``I still don't understand why I'm here,'' she said.
``Yeah, I know. I promise you, it's hard to explain, it's easiest to show you. And I'm sorry, because it's gonna get weirder before things make sense. Come on, let's go get something to drink.''
Beatrice gave a frustrated sigh as William led her and Bleathman back out into the corridor. A quick glance back at Bleathman only served to give her an attempt at a comforting smile, not that it accomplished much.
``The second condition of living here is that they agree to work for me,'' William continued, heading away from the gym. ``I told you about that mine collapse in Germany earlier. Ten unnecessary deaths, what if we could have prevented them? Take Tara for example, when we're operational she'll be designated our reconnaissance pilot and first responder.''
``You're starting a rescue organisation?'' Beatrice asked.
``Yep, it's been my dream since as long as I can remember. When I was about six years old there was an incident in Thailand, heavy rains trapped a teenage soccer team and their coach two and a half miles deep into a cave. More than a week they were down there, the geology of the cave making the route out a treacherous one. Some gaps were so narrow rescue divers had to remove their tanks and shimmy through. But they all were saved, I remember watching it on live TV. It was a wonderful moment to behold.''
``I think I remember that,'' Bleathman said. ``Wasn't one of the rescuers killed in the attempt?''
``Yeah, a Navy SEAL too. Damn tragedy, that guy was a hero. I remember thinking back then, if I ever became a millionaire I'd put all my money into paying for big fancy rescue equipment that could save anyone in danger, without putting anyone else at risk. That's what I discussed with your father at Oxford. Thing is, life happens and I forgot all about it for the longest time, until a few years ago when I took an unwanted dip in the Pacific and got a wake up call.''
Beatrice's eyes widened in understanding. ``Alpha One-Thirteen.''
``Exactly. When that bird went down, I didn't think too much on the hundreds of millions of dollars that went into it. I had plenty of time to think in the fourteen hours I spent treading water, and that's when I remembered my childhood dream and my promise to your father. I'd been blindsided, so focused on just being the fastest that I forgot the most important thing. Being the fastest to the right destination.''
``Funny the things you think of when you're fighting for your life,'' Bleathman mused, louder than he meant to.
William cracked up laughing. ``Yeah memories are strange, but there we are. And here we are.''
As promised, William had led them into the lounge. Opening up the cavernous corridor led into a huge atrium with a glass ceiling several stories high, and glass walls surrounding them on three sides. Out the window the sky was bathed dark blue as the sun had finally dropped below the horizon, entering the twilight stage. Just visible out the window was the pool Beatrice had spotted from the jet before landing, the pale aqua blue tiles illuminated by the lights spaced out along the bottom of it. A wave of wake sloshed to the edge, not particularly surprising to William; the pool was often used at all hours.
Inside, William's guests took in more of their surroundings. Other than the rock face at their backs, there weren't many walls to speak of, instead creating a open-plan living space the size of a small hangar. In the centre of the room to the right of the corridor entrance was a sunken seating area, perfectly circular centred around a large coffee table. One of the seats was being sat in, its occupant facing towards the new arrivals but holding a large book in front of their head, obscuring it from view. William rolled his eyes, he'd make proper introductions shortly. To the cave side of the room from there was a semi-circular section of wall holding up a section of balcony above them, with a few portraits hanging from it arranged in a neat line. From their angle, the only recognisable portrait was Tara on the far end.
Beyond the seating area, also facing towards the centre was a large desk, barren except for an old-looking computer console and a few photo frames. Beyond that, tucked into the corner of the room was an opulent black grand piano, its lid propped up and on full display. William cast a sly glance at Beatrice, initially just attempting to confirm if she shared her father?s theory; a grand piano in a lounge area was a trademark belonging to those calibre of folk with too much money and not enough imagination. Her mask held at a steady neutral.
He kept his subtle glance fixed on her as long as he dared, waiting for her to turn around and notice what was nearest the entrance to the room. And audible gasp erupted from her lips when she saw, and William had the pleasure of seeing her expression shift. Jaws momentarily agape in surprise, the corners of her mouth drifted gradually upwards as the joy set in.
Built against the rock wall near the doorway was an artificial rock pool. Mosses and exotic flowers of a dozen colours decorated the gaps between each boulder, the pond in the centre alive with water lilies dancing in the wake of tropical fish darting around excitedly. Between the aurora of multi-coloured stones in the basin and the light hitting the pearlescent scales of the marine life creating a pulsating plethora of hues, it was truly a mind-boggling sight to take in. The water was quite simply alive with colour.
Impressive by its own standards, the beauty of that section of the room was made infinitely more stunning by the mural built into the rock wall behind it. A mosaic with impossible detail, an entire galaxy of colours taking up a section of wall the size of a bus, dark blues somehow shifting gradually into light pinks and purples in beautiful swirls and spirals. The filler holding the tiles in place was painted to fit as well, blending into the background and occasionally dotted with a tiny speck of white, the result on a grand scale showing of hundreds of tiny distant stars. Then there was the rocket. Sleek and eye-catching, with its muscular squared-off fuselage and forward swept wings, looking as ahead of its time now as it did when it first broke free of Earth's atmosphere whole decades earlier. Its form was flawlessly captured in coloured porcelain.
``Illuminance,'' Beatrice gushed.
``The very rocket that made me the first mammal on Mars,'' William affirmed. ``So named for the leap-forward in technology it represented. Lighting our way across the stars and into a new age.''
``I was so young at the time, but I do remember Father had us watch the launching live. Mother wasn't interested, she didn't consider it to be a very lady-like thing for a young woman to watch. But I was absolutely transfixed. Seeing something so large lift-off the ground and race toward the heavens... well, it taught me that `impossible' is just a fancy word for something that's currently too inconvenient to keep trying.''
``A great sentiment,'' William grinned. ``Personally I'd balance it with some healthy realism, but I'm glad it inspired you. It inspired a lot of people, by all accounts.''
``It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.''
``I'll beg to differ on that by the time you head home.''
Beatrice raised a confused eyebrow as a glorious smell wafted towards William's nose. Rising up from a set of stairs the opposite corner of the room to the grand piano, the distant sound of sizzling food in a frying pan could also be heard. His reaction must have been noticeable, as Beatrice and Bleathman both sniffed at the air, eyes turning wide as the unmistakable odour of Pembantu's cooking became impossible to ignore.
``Smells like a good feast coming up. Did you want something to drink, by the way?''
``Ermm... a brandy if you have some, please,'' Beatrice replied. Bleathman just gave an appreciative shake of his head.
Nodding, William strolled in the direction of his desk, pausing as he passed the sunken seating area and picking up one of the sofa pillows. He twirled it playfully through the air where it span until it landed on the lap of the antisocial elephant in the room, who was sat reading a thick book on theoretical physics.
``Come on Sasha, don't be rude, we've got guests,'' William teased as he carried on towards his desk.
A stoic face appeared as the book dropped to its readers lap. The face belonged to a deer, young and female, cream coloured fur all over. Her hair was a deep red, styled into a Mohawk that rose an inch off her scalp. The fashion of choice was clearly styled similarly to her hair, short sleeve t-shirt over the top of a long sleeve t-shirt, baggy three-quarter length jeans, and no shoes to cover her cloven hooves. Her eyes followed William as he reached his desk, opening the draw and pulling out a square-based glass bottle filled with amber liquid. Her gaze then retraced his steps back towards the entranceway before it fell upon the two newcomers. Two strangers to her. She stared for a few brief moments, her eyes piercing red in contrast to the darker shade of her hair, before silently returning her attention to her book. Her expression never shifted once.
``Sasha Anderson,'' William announced, returning back to Beatrice carrying two glasses of brandy. ``At seventeen she's the youngest resident on the island, but don't let that fool you. She's probably smarter than the three of us combined.''
``Seventeen? What about her family, do they know she's here?'' Beatrice asked, taking her glass and taking a small sip.
``I rescued her, ironically. It's something everyone I recruited for this venture has in common; they all of have no family ties. Well... most of them. When I found Sasha she was living on the streets, running with a bad crowd, at first I thought I'd found the wrong person until I had her followed. Daily visits to the library, not something your typical gangbanger would do.''
``Had her followed?''
``I knew when I was starting out I'd need to recruit younger trainees, athletic ones preferably but you can always train them up. But what I really needed was good intelligence, a thirst for adventure, and owing to the level of secrecy involved, minimal family ties. Sasha was a runaway, a product of the childcare system who didn't want to live under its thumb; she made it all the way from Illinois to Texas on her own wits. That's where she ended up in her little gang.''
On her seat, Sasha coughed as she turned a page of her book. For a brief second William thought she was going to object to having her history broadcast so publicly until she noticed the wires dangling from the younger girls shirt. She had earphones in. Seeing Beatrice notice too, he smirked to himself, making an educated guess at what Sasha might do.
``Resourceful kid, I respect that a lot,'' he continued. ``For six years she slept rough, her entire gang did too, until they decided small petty crimes weren't enough. Her lieutenants decided they should steal a brand new Bugatti from a showroom, Sasha being unwillingly elected as the getaway driver. She drove circles around the police for seven hours, even dodged roadblocks and spike strips, until she gave herself in out of exhaustion. She probably would've escaped if not for the helicopter pursuit. Seeing how well she drove that car was the final proof I needed that she'd be the perfect recruit.''
``But `ow did you know where to find `er? And why `er specifically?'' Bleathman asked.
``My first step in recruitment was seeking out bright young minds across the world'' William explained, stepping down into the seating area and sitting on one of the curved sofas. He gestured for Beatrice and Bleathman to join him. ``It was a very careful process, since I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself. But in the search, among many other individuals that stood out, a then-eleven year old with an IQ exceeding two hundred was most intriguing, especially a child of the foster care system. By the time the test results came in, she'd already run away.''
``You didn't chase her for six years though, did you?'' Beatrice enquired, placing her now-empty glass down on the coffee table, making sure to put a coaster down first.
``Not at all, by the time I'd began my search she'd already been in her gang for several years. With the resources I could expend with my company in tracking her down, we traced her location within a week, something the public services failed to do with years of time.'' He paused. ``Which in itself is a tragedy, now that I think about it. Another issue I'll have to start pursuing.''
``And when you found her, you had her observed to see if the personality fit as well as the profile.''
``Exactly. She was one of the higher ranking members of her gang, which put her in a position to enforce her own rules. Namely, she made them stick to small, petty crimes, only stealing what they absolutely needed to get by. Any acts of violence resulted in expulsion. I won't pretend to know what drove her to run away in the first place, but the person I saw on those streets was one with a strong moral compass, a passion for learning, and from what I saw of her pursuit, a cool head under pressure and lightning fast reflexes. I knew then I had my astronaut.''
``Astronaut?'' Beatrice asked, jaw dropping. ``You want to send a teenager into space?''
``Well technically speaking I turn eighteen next month,'' Sasha said, finally speaking out but not looking up from her book. ``So from that point I'm legally an adult by European standards.''
Beatrice turned to William and whispered harshly. ``I thought she was listening to music.'' He immediately knew she felt guilty about letting herself be led into the social faux pas of talking about someone directly in front of them. He'd have his fun a bit longer.
``I am,'' Sasha remarked, still not looking up from her pages. ``Billy Idol, Rebel Yell, vintage `eighty three track. Here's the thing about reading lips, it takes practice, but once you master it you can even do it from just your peripheral vision.''
William giggled playfully as the colour drained from Beatrice's cheeks. He was about to console her when laughter erupted from the hallway. Into the room walked Tara, wiping tears from her eyes. Her mane was still damp and frizzy from the shower, and she was dressed much more leisurely in a black tank top and sky-blue shorts. A much shorter figure joined her, the top of his head barely level with Tara's knees.
The short figure was a guinea pig, taller than most with floppy ears that swung loosely from his head. The pattern of his fur was a bizarre mishmash, mostly being a light cream colour but with dark grey patches over one eye, one ear, and the full length of one arm. He was dressed like the world?s smallest lumberjack, a red plaid shirt with the sleeves folded up to his elbows, dark blue jeans and tiny brown boots.
``Sorry Willy,'' the guinea pig said between chuckles, his Irish accent cutting sharply through his words. ``Tara overheard you's talking about Sasha right in front of her, she figured it'd make an entertaining spectacle.''
``Did she indeed?'' William asked, raising an eyebrow. ``Tara, when we were talking about Beatrice's arrival the other day you said you'd park their jet in our hangar, right?''
``Yeah can do, no problem.''
``How long will it take you?''
``Five minutes tops.''
William looked at his watch, bringing up the holographic display flicking through to the stopwatch menu and fiddling with the countdown timer settings. ``Practise manoeuvre three, ten minutes and counting, go.'' He pressed down and the numbers began to fall.
The reaction on Tara's face was instantaneous: annoyance, anger and then reluctant acceptance washing their way through her expression all in the space of a second. She turned on the spot and marched swiftly back down the hallway, the stomps of her hooves gradually fading into the distance.
``She's not gonna be happy about that, dude,'' Sasha said, still not looking up from her book.
William shrugged. ``Last I looked her night hours were about half that of her day hours. You all need to log a decent amount of both before we start operations.''
``Aye, but manoeuvre three,'' the guinea pig pointed out. ``That's a two hour round-trip, it's late, and she's been in the gym most of the day. She's fecking exhausted.''
``Firstly, a call could come in at literally any time of day, you all need to be prepared for the fact one might happen when you're not ready for it. And secondly, that's twice she's been acting too much like a court jester today, she needs to rein herself in. Especially since we have guests.''
``You might want to clear the pool then, if you're sending her out'' Sasha noted.
``Oh heck, you're right,'' William replied with wide eyes. ``Guinness, would you kindly?''
``Don't mind at all, Willy,'' came the affirmative reply, the guinea pig in question scurrying off down the stairs towards the kitchen.
``That,'' William explained, to his bewildered guests, who had sat in uncertain silence for the whole exchange. ``Is Guinness O'Brady. Aside from being one of the best mechanics I've ever met, he's damn good at demolition too. Interesting combination, I know, but again it was only the smartest of the smart I recruited here. He'll be in charge of heavy equipment and logistics.''
Beatrice craned her neck to look towards the stairs again. ``The guinea pig will be your go-to for heavy machinery?''
``Whatever line of thinking you've got going on there, forget it. Appearances can be deceptive, and he's a strong little fella.''
``Alright then, but how about this: why does Tara's two hour `trip' require the pool to be cleared?''
``You'll find that out in...'' his voice trailed off as he glanced down at his watch. ``Seven minutes, fourty five seconds.''
Beatrice shook her head disbelievingly; the inability to receive a straight answer seeming to be frustrating her further and further beyond William?s control. All he had to do was distract her a little longer, despite the overwhelming urge to give her the full story. The truth of her own eyes was vital though, she had to see it firsthand.
A commotion coming back up the stairs distracted Beatrice from the moment, William following her gaze round to find Guinness returning back up the stairs with another figure in tow.
Features gradually appeared over the top step, a sea-green mop of damp just-out-of-the-pool hair, grey fur with a yellow patch surrounding one eye, strong paws with yellow webbing between the digits and a thick tail swinging to and fro as its aquatic owner traversed the stairs. The otter grinned as he saw the crowd gathered around the table, blissfully ignorant to the collective thoughts of the group in regards to his fashion sense. It said a lot about the otters guts, not many mammals would have the tenacity to walk around in a Hawaiian shirt as loud as the one that he was wearing, so for all intents and purpose he had to be the bravest soul to walk the earth. Bright orange and dotted with palm trees, the look was completed with denim shorts and brown boat shoes. He rocked the look of mid-life crisis and hadn?t even yet hit his twenties.
"Ebb, didn?t disturb you did we?" William asked.
"Nah mate, was just about done for today," he replied. His voice was loud and confident, thick with an Australian accent that reverberated mercilessly around the cavernous room. "Giggly tells me you sent Tara out on maneuver three though. Mate, I wouldn?t wanna be standing where you are when she gets back."
"Giggly?" Bleathman asked.
"Gigglypig. It?s his hilarious way of saying guinea pig," Guinness explained.
"You love the attention," Ebb chuckled with a dismissive wave of his paw. "So come on Boss, maneuver three at this time of night, she whizzed in your coffee or something?"
William pinched the bridge of his nose. "I?m not going to hear the end of this, am I? Look, she?s been talking without thinking today far too much today, in front of guests, and I practically had to drag her out of the gym before she collapsed. I just figured she needed a nudge back onto the straight and narrow."
"Uh huh," Ebb said, clearly not convinced. "Anyway, these the pommies you told us about?"
"Indeed they are. Lady Beatrice, Bleathman, this is Ebb Fisher. Aquanaut, marine biologist, and owner of the brightest wardrobe collection you?ll ever see."
``It's not that bad,'' Ebb protested.
``Where'd I leave me fecking sunglasses?'' Ebb asked, looking around the room dramatically to further push the matter.
"I take it you frequently find yourself having to redirect air traffic then?" Beatrice teased.
Everyone chuckled collectively, Ebb taking a half step backwards as if reeling from the non-existent blow. William leaned back in his seat, unable to spread the grin growing across his face as the conversation began to flow freely between the group, even Bleathman dropping his unflinching facade and allowing himself to smile and engage in the conversation. A few minutes passed by in pleasant warmth, the six assembled around the table chatting and laughing as several conversations happened at once. Only a quiet bleeping from Sasha's watch, which appeared to have the same functions as William's, interrupted the assorted discussions.
"Gizmo?" Sasha asked, pressing one finger to her left earphone.
She listened for a few moments, nodding to herself and answering only with the occasional 'uh-huh', before she declared she'd see them shortly and upon disconnecting her call, stood up to dismiss herself.
"Abbott and Costello need some help with their big-ass jigsaw puzzle," she explained. "Said they need a different viewpoint to try and piece things together."
William glanced down at his watch. "You sure? Wheels up any second now."
"I've seen it a dozen times already, I'm sure I'll survive missing this one."
"Well if you're sure. If they're both down there we'll be along soon, finish up introductions for Beatrice and Bleathman."
"Cool," Sasha said with an indifferent shrug, strolling towards the hallway whistling a classic Pink Floyd tune to herself.
Almost on cue, William's watch let out a shrill tone, signalling the end of his countdown timer. He excitedly jumped to his feet. "Come on, come on," he said, jogging over to the window overlooking the pool and gesturing for everyone to join him. "You're not gonna wanna miss this, Beatrice."
Beatrice rolled her eyes as she stood, strolling over to join William at the glass pane that took up the size of the wall. In front of them the only illumination came from the lights at the bottom of and to the sides of the pool, beyond that the setting sun had long since disappeared, bathing the horizon in pitch blackness.
"What now?" Bleathman asked, taking his place next to Beatrice.
"Any... second... now..." William said, drawing each word out slowly.
He briefly caught sight of the muscles on Beatrice's face twitching, preparing themselves to open her mouth and let her speak, before the alarms kicked in.
``Thank you Tara,'' William declared, having to yell to be heard. ``Top notch timing as always.''
The effect on both Beatrice and Bleathman had been instantaneous, covering their ears and looking up and around them to try and determine the source of the deafening tones. Bells and wails of different pitches combining in a hideous orchestra that was impossible to ignore. Much to William's amusement, Guinness and Ebb hadn't shifted from the sofa, utterly unfazed by the deafening noise. As opposed to explaining, William nudged Beatrice, and upon determining he had her attention again he proceeded to gesture to his eyes, and then to the pool outside. She obliged.
For a few more moments nothing happened, everything otherwise normal under the veil of noise. Then, true to William's earlier promise to Beatrice, things got weirder. A subtle rumbling began under their feet, barely noticeable but simultaneously impossible to ignore. William caught Beatrice's jaw drop in his peripheral vision as the pool began to open. Basin, water and all, the entire pool began to slide away, pulling itself in under the house like a desk draw gradually being pushed closed. As the gap left behind became wider and wider, the lights and reflections from flashing beacons became visible in the dark void it left behind. The void grew and grew, the pool becoming smaller and smaller until finally it was completely out of sight, tucked away under the concrete foundation of the villa. A loud thunk echoed around the villa, signalling the pool was successfully stowed away.
For another few brief moments, all was silent and serene again. Then the rumbling began.
Deep and throaty, sending strong vibrations through the building and bouncing around the skulls of its occupants, the rumble grew louder and louder until something appeared out of the pool. It started with just a red nose cone, rising slowly but surely as it fought the gravity trying to drag it back down into the void. But it persevered, the rockets that propelled it upwards shifting from a low rumble to high whine, reminiscent of the noises a jet plane would make. As it emerged further, the fuselage drew into view, sleek and sharply angled, dark blue with sweeping triangular wings stretching from just behind the nose to just in front of the air intakes for its propulsion. Widening out as the last of it emerged from the dark, William briefly caught a glance of the large '1' emblazoned on the base of its hull, before it rose out of view and disappeared out of sight, the rockets crackling as they faded into the distance and beginning their journey into the pitch blackness that was the sweet embrace of nighttime.
"So," William chuckled. "There goes Tara. You want to see the other machines we've got here?"
He turned to face Beatrice, her eyes wide and her jaw hung low in stunned disbelief. It was a beautiful sight.
