The Star Bell (The Cendrillon Cycle Book 3)

by Stephanie Ricker

  “It’s just the commline that cut out,” Arne said. “Distress beacon is still active and transmitting.”

  “Elsa, please report to the Sovereign what’s going on,” Karl ordered. “Anders may not have had time to alert them, although they should’ve picked up the distress call anyway.” The ghost of a frown crossed his face. “Strange that they haven’t checked in with us.”

  It was strange indeed. Elsa opened the commline to the ship, after a momentary scramble to find the right control. When she didn’t hear anything, she assumed she had made the connection incorrectly. She checked again. She had done it correctly. She made herself breathe, keeping her voice steady as she said, “There is no response.”

  A flicker of an emotion that might’ve been fear crossed Karl’s face for the first time, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Try again,” he said calmly.

  Elsa waited twice as long as usual for the ping from the ship indicating an open line, but there was no reply. “No response,” she said again.

  “Keep trying,” Karl told her. “And keep calling the other skiff too. It could just be the planet’s radiation or some other native characteristic messing with communications.”

  “Or it could be that whatever got the skiff got the Sovereign too,” Arne said darkly.

  Karl laughed, and from the sound Elsa could’ve sworn he was as relaxed as he appeared. “Not possible. Anything small enough to fit on the roof of a skiff wouldn’t be able to harm the Sovereign.”

  Elsa hoped that was true.

  Louise was pulling out gear from the storage compartments under the rear seats. She looped a rope around one shoulder to get it out of the way. “We’ve got first aid kits and supplies,” she said, “including some basic spare parts if the other skiff is damaged. Probably not anything we could use to replace a whole thruster,” she admitted, “but it’s a start.”

  “What about weapons?” Karl asked absently.

  Elsa’s eyes widened. “What do you think we’re getting into?” she murmured quietly.

  “No idea. But I’d like to be ready for it,” he responded in the same tone.

  “In addition to what you’re wearing, two pistols and two rifles,” Louise reported. Senior Fleet officers always wore sidearms, so Karl was already armed.

  Karl nodded to himself. “Arne, we’re probably getting close, yes? Pull up into a steep climb. I want at least two thousand feet between us and the treetops where the other skiff was flying. Anything at all on scanners? Any projectiles, other vehicles?”

  Arne shook his head. “Nothing. We’re nearing the source of the distress call.” He put the skiff into a steep incline. “Won’t be able to see anything from this height, especially with all the tree cover.”

  “I know,” Karl replied as the skiff reached the height of its climb and dropped all but a tiny fraction of its speed. “But I don’t want whatever happened to them to happen to us. It’s already been eight minutes. One more minute to scan before we sail straight into danger is worth the risk.”

  While Arne ran every scan for danger that he could think of, Elsa leaned forward to gaze at the verdant expanse below them. Mammoth trees filled the space from the skiff’s position to the horizon. She had seen trees only once before, on her one and only trip to Atthis. Those had been jungle trees, not the dense deciduous growth she saw below her now. She was unable to catch even a glimpse of the ground beneath the thick canopy. The leaves were a muted grey-green, deceptively soft-seeming at this height.

  “Elsa, make one last try to raise the Sovereign, please,” Karl said quietly.

  “Aye.” The sailor’s monosyllable felt odd on her lips, but it slipped out before she knew it was coming. After a moment, she said, just a quietly as he, “Still nothing.”

  “Nothing on the scans either?” he asked Arne.

  The pilot skimmed the results. “Negligible wind, good visibility, a few birds enjoying the weather…no, sir. Nothing that could have taken them down.” Arne’s fingers hovered over the controls to send the skiff down into the trees.

  “Take her down to the source of the call, then,” Karl said. “At the first sign of anything that could have caused their crash, sing out.”

  Like a hund let slip from a leash, Arne released the skiff and let her fall towards the surface. Leafy silver-green rushed to fill the viewscreen, and Arne pulled the skiff up short just before she submerged into the foliage. “Looks like the signal is coming from the ground,” he said.

  He shook his head, puzzled by the negative readings, none of which offered a clue to the other skiff’s crash. “Plenty of life readings, but that’s to be expected in a forest. No wind eddies. No power signatures coming from the planet, as would be the case if there were any anti-aircraft weapons. Nothing that could have fallen on the other skiff.”

  Something moved in the trees below them.

  Elsa started. “What about something that could have jumped on them?”

  Karl leaned over her shoulder. “What did you see?”

  “There’s something moving through the canopy.” She frowned, straining to see through the thick foliage. She shook her head. “I don’t see it now.”

  “Maybe it was a squirrel or something,” Arne offered.

  “Awfully big squirrel,” Elsa muttered.

  Karl made his decision. “Land her, Arne. As close as you can to the distress beacon. Everybody suit up. Looks like you get your wish,” he told Elsa. “You’ll get to set foot on a new world after all.”

  A surge of adrenaline shot through her at the prospect. This wasn’t how she imagined her first surface team mission, but she couldn’t help feeling excited.

  Arne nudged the nose of the skiff into the dusky greenery, lowering the vehicle slowly through the trees. The skiff interior darkened as the light from above filtered through the leaves, then darkened further as they dropped into the forest’s understory.

  Bruno’s eyes were on his task as he flipped from view to view on his headset, monitoring the riggers’ progress as they took the opportunity to make sure the Sovereign’s sails were in top condition while they were in orbit around the new planet. But his thoughts were elsewhere.

  The encounter with Volkova replayed in his head. Her disillusionment with the Common Union seemed a little too convenient—they were the perfect scapegoat for her own crimes. But why bother trying to convince him? Why did she even care about his opinion? Yet her apology had seemed genuine, not that it mattered.

  Maybe it did, he admitted grudgingly. There was some measure of vindication in hearing her admit her error. But his younger self had been convinced Volkova would do the right thing, and that belief had been shattered by her actions. There was no rebuilding that belief—certainly not in the form it had originally held—regardless of her sincerity now.

  So engrossed was he in his thoughts, the sudden appearance of something on the proximity sensors took a moment to register.

  He stared uncomprehendingly. “What in all the worlds is that?” he muttered aloud.

  He simultaneously flipped the switch to turn on the rigger recall lights scattered across the ship’s hull and activated the universal commline. “All hands, cease rigging operations and return to the nearest airlock immediately. I repeat, all hands, get off the sails immediately.” His eyes swept across the views again. The riggers appeared to be falling back down to the ship as they all left their positions and used their maneuvering thrusters to propel themselves homeward. The recall lights reflected redly off of their suits whenever they passed one of the emergency signals.

  His own interior commline activated, and Bruno heard the voice of one of the bridge crew. “Bosuns, immediately recall any crew outside of the ship. This order is urgent.”

  The white shape in the distance that had caused the alarm drew nearer.

  “Already done, sir,” Bruno responded, never taking his eyes from the projection in front of him. “What is it? It doesn’t look like a ship.”

  “Unknown at this time, bosu
n.”

  Down the corridor, Bruno heard the first whoosh of the airlock as riggers entered the ship. More had nearly reached the outer hatches set into the hull. The topmen who had been working at the extreme tips of the sails had the farthest to come and were the last inside.

  “Jaq and Gus, what is your status?” He kept his tone clinical, but he was concerned about the ex-cinders. They had been working on the port sail, which was closest to—whatever it was that was approaching.

  Bruno squinted at the projection. Maybe Elsa was right and his vision wasn’t quite what it used to be, he admitted to himself. He sure wasn’t going to tell her that. The white shape’s movement no longer appeared aimless; there was no doubt that it was moving with purpose towards the Sovereign.

  “On my way in,” Jaq said cheerfully. “What’s the fuss?”

  Bruno gaped in amazement. “Has it perhaps escaped your notice that there is a large object hurtling towards us?” Jaq tended to be very single-minded in his work, but this was a new level of obliviousness for him. “Gus, where are you? Perhaps you could enlighten our blind friend.”

  “I’m almost to the gunwale,” he replied, “or I was. I saw the recall lights and was already heading in when I heard you.” Bruno leaned back slightly, satisfied. Gus never missed a trick.

  “I assumed anyone with half a brain would do the same,” Gus said, heavy on the sarcasm. “There being a giant unidentified vessel incoming and all. I’m waiting here at the hatch for Half-brain Perrault.”

  “I, unlike some, was focused on doing my best possible work for the Fleet,” Jaq said with dignity. “I don’t have time for daydreaming and looking at the stars.” He continued in his normal, considerably less dignified voice. “I still haven’t even seen whatever you’re talking about,” he confided. “The sail’s in the way. But I see you, Gus. Almost in!”

  Bruno saw the last tiny figure on the projected view wave as it approached the hatch next to which Gus waited, and he allowed himself to breathe a little freer. “Gus, you said that thing is a vessel?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Are you sure?”

  “Well yeah, what else could it be?” Gus opened the airlock and ushered Jaq inside, but he kept up the commline conversation with Bruno.

  Bruno quirked an eyebrow and nodded his head. That was fair. “Can you describe it? It just looks like a white blur from here.”

  “Someone needs an optical implant whether he likes it or not,” Gus said in a singsong voice. Bruno heard the whoosh of the airlock through the commline. “It’s on the other side of the sail now, but when I was up top, it looked kind of like us.”

  “Us? So, dashingly handsome with a ripped physique?” Jaq quipped.

  “Like the Sovereign,” Gus plodded on as though he had not been interrupted. “Big, white, had sails. Must be a Fleet ship.”

  Bruno relaxed the rest of the way. If it was just another Fleet ship, there was no danger. No immediate danger, he amended. There had to be a compelling reason for another ship to come out after them this far.

  Volkova. He closed his eyes for a second. Stars, he hoped it wasn’t her. He’d had as much of the Red Wolf as he could stomach for a while. He opened his eyes again, and his face fell into the frown that Elsa called curmudgeonly. He had more than one reason to hope the approaching ship wasn’t the Strelka. He didn’t like that Godfrey fellow hanging around Elsa. At first Bruno had been excited for her, that she’d run into a friend from home; she seemed to have so few ties aside from the cinders. But he couldn’t restrain a fatherly protectiveness towards her, and something about the man didn’t sit right.

  Jaq and Gus entered the bosun’s station with a clatter of boots and laughter. Noise seemed to cling to Jaq like the smell of woodsmoke during a camping trip, and Gus’ presence only made it worse.

  Jaq plunked himself down on an inactive console, earning himself a half-hearted glare from another bosun. “Hey, do you think this other ship means there’s trouble? Will they recall the exploration mission?” He turned to Gus before Bruno could answer. “I’m still really miffed we weren’t picked to go to the surface.”

  “Yes, we have so much to offer a surface team,” Gus deadpanned.

  “How should I know?” Bruno grumbled in answer to Jaq’s question, still looking at the white shape. Something about it didn’t look quite right, but he couldn’t pin it down. He was sure now it wasn’t the Strelka, at least; the shape was off.

  His commline activated with a call from the bridge. “Bosun, can you raise the skiff teams? We’re having trouble reaching them.”

  The bridge crewman’s voice seemed tense, and Bruno’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Stand by.” He opened a commline to both skiffs, requesting an immediate response.

  A garbled whine filled the bosun’s station, making Gus and Jaq wince. “What’s that racket?” Jaq protested.

  “Bridge?” Bruno said. “I’m unable to connect with the skiff teams. Something seems to be interfering.” Internal comms were fine, obviously, so that wasn’t the problem.

  “You were able to talk to us when we were outside,” Jaq pointed out. “Something must be wrong on the skiffs’ end.”

  Bruno pointed at the helmet dangling from Jaq’s hand. “Put that thing back on for a second, will you? I want to test that. The helm comms are considered external commlines since they have to be able to reach you when you’re on the sails.”

  Jaq obligingly pulled his helm over his head and clasped it to his suit. Bruno activated his commline. The same sound squealed through the office.

  Bruno shouted at Jaq, “Is the noise coming through your helm commline too?”

  Jaq shook his head, then pulled the helm off. “I could hear it echo through the helmet, but I didn’t hear anything through the helm’s commline.”

  Bruno opened an interior line again. “Bridge, external comms aren’t working. We just tested it with some spacesuit helmets. Something is interfering with the external lines, but we can still use these internal lines just fine. The skiffs probably don’t even know there’s an issue; I don’t think they can hear the feedback on their end. Could the other ship be jamming us somehow?”

  “Thank you for that information, bosun,” the crewman said. “The approaching object is not a ship.”

  “Then what is it?” Gus asked bluntly.

  In the bridge background, they heard an alarm go off. “Sir, it’s picked up speed! Collision course.” The commline cut off abruptly as the bridge crewman terminated the connection.

  Bruno’s eyes flew to the projected view. The white shape was no longer visible.

  “Where is it?” Jaq asked.

  “It must be on the other side of the sails,” Bruno muttered. He switched from view to view, trying to find one that showed the thing more clearly. It must be moving fast indeed, he thought, for the Sovereign itself to be hiding it from their view already. “There.”

  The thing snaked sinuously through space and flicked something that looked a lot like a tail.

  “Sun, moon, and stars above,” Gus exploded.

  It was most definitely not a ship.

  Arne threaded the skiff through the last of the tree branches. Karl pulled on his gloves and sealed his helmet in place. He cast a quick glance over Elsa and Louise to make sure they were set.

  “How’s your marksmanship?” he asked Elsa.

  She looked nervous, but her voice was rock-steady when she replied. “Not much chance for target practice as a cinder, but I had training as a teenager. It’s been a while,” she admitted.

  “Take a pistol anyway,” he told her, “but wait for my order before firing.”

  “Aye.” She took the pistol and holster that Louise offered her without hesitancy. He allowed himself to let go of a tiny bit of that worry for her safety.

  The skiff touched the forest floor with a barely perceptible bump.

  “Nicely done, Arne,” Elsa told the pilot. Karl’s mind logged that away for later. She was scared, but her fear didn’t stop he
r from thinking of others. He found he didn’t quite know what he himself thought about the ex-cinder. He leaped at the chance to spend time in her presence, but he admitted to himself that their differences in experiences and goals made him hesitate. She was still trying to find her niche in Fleet life. She would figure it out, but he didn’t want to get in the way of any discoveries she would make.

  Arne looked at Elsa in mild surprise. “Thanks.” He hastily pulled on his own gloves and helmet, catching the pistol Louise tossed his way before latching the helmet to his suit. “The distress beacon is maybe a quarter mile north of us. This was the closest I could get without flying us into a tree.”

  “No worries, this is fine,” Karl told him. He gave one of the rifles to Louise; he knew she was a crack shot, and he didn’t know Arne’s skill level. “Arne, please take the pack with the first aid kits in case someone was hurt in the crash. Everyone ready?”

  Nods all around. Had he thought of everything? It worried him that the Sovereign wasn’t responsive, but he didn’t know what else to do.

  “Keep sharp,” he warned, shouldering the other rifle. He slapped the hatch control, and it slid upwards, revealing the forest around them as if unveiling a display. He took a long, careful look around.

  Arne had set them down in a tiny gap in the forest, much too small to be called a clearing. Massive trees surrounded them, towering hundreds of feet in the air. He craned his neck back awkwardly, hampered by the helm on his head. Maybe the trees towered even a thousand feet, he realized with a start. He hadn’t known just how big the things were until he was under them. It would take a dozen people with arms outstretched just to circle one of the giants. The gap in the canopy had been created by the death of one of the trees, and Arne had settled the skiff squarely on its fallen trunk. It was the only break in the undergrowth, which was rife with pale grey, fern-like plants as tall as Elsa. The foliage above dimmed the sun to a murky twilight, and he found himself squinting, trying to see more clearly through the brush around them.