The Star Bell (The Cendrillon Cycle Book 3)

by Stephanie Ricker

  “Well,” Elsa said with a rueful quirk of her mouth, returning the ore to its place on the shelf, “this is basically my first haul in its entirety. I wasn’t much good to start.”

  “Most people aren’t, starting a new skill. Perhaps you’d do well to remember that and cut yourself some slack, Elsa Vogel.” He smiled, eyes twinkling, when she looked up at him suddenly. “Yes,” he said, folding his arms. “I’ve heard that you were not magically transformed into an expert rigger the moment you stepped onto a sail. What did you expect? None of us are born being comfortable with every task we turn our hand to.”

  Elsa exhaled loudly and dropped down on the couch. “I suppose not. I didn’t expect it to be this hard either, though.” She glared up at him from under her eyebrows. “I hate feeling uncertain and unskilled. I always have.”

  Karl made a noise in his throat that might have been a laugh. “Right, because the rest of us love that feeling.”

  Elsa looked away and fiddled with the hund collar, but a small smile crept its way onto her face. “You know what I mean.” The smile faded. “This situation reminds me a lot of my early mining days, actually. I hadn’t thought about them in a while, but that old feeling of wondering if I can cut it…it reminds me of my nineteen-year-old self, trying so hard to be competent and in control, but really just trying to survive. I hated that. I still hate that.”

  She looked up at him again, a little hesitant, but his expression was nothing but sympathetic. No mockery there. “There’s too much to learn. I’m not used to feeling old either, but at twenty-eight, I begin to think I am. I don’t learn as fast as I did.” She chuckled dryly. “I see why the Fleet training programs begin so early.”

  Karl waved a hand at her, still looking over her shelves full of memories. “Twenty-eight is not old, young lady. Don’t even pretend to know what that’s like until you reach the ripe old age of thirty-one. We’ll see whose back creaks louder then.” He pointed to what looked like a charred piece of tree bark with reddish striations running through it. “What in the name of space is this?”

  “Ah! That is a piece of fire worm carapace,” she said matter-of-factly.

  He all but spluttered. “A what?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said, laughing at his very satisfying reaction. “I’ll tell it to you some time. Suffice it to say, it involved a very raw, new cinder, played by yours truly, and a misguided attempt to gather ore from what turned out to be a nest.”

  “A nest of fire worms.” His tone hovered between horror and disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head, marveling. “You’re full of intriguing stories, Elsa. And am I to assume that this ancient thing is also some mysterious relic of a past adventure?” he asked, picking up an oversized, old-style commlink that sat on the uppermost shelf.

  Elsa swallowed, feeling the familiar sting. “That was my dad’s. He had it with him when he died. He used it to record his notes, mainly. Anser’s satellite system was always in such poor repair, half of the time the commlink signal was down. That was partially why I didn’t worry about him for so long, on the day he died. Sometimes he would be gone overnight and couldn’t call me.”

  She was rambling and knew it, but Karl didn’t seem to mind. He sat down next to her on the couch. “Overnight? Would his work often call him away on long trips?”

  “You have to understand what the role of an astroglaciologist is like on Anser,” she said, finding herself wanting to make him comprehend what life was like on her homeworld. “He would range far afield over the glaciers, collecting ice core samples, monitoring seismic activity, that sort of thing. His pet project was testing the ice for new locations for commlink towers to improve communications. He was always looking for ways to make life better for those of us who still lived on Anser.”

  So few still did, then. She wondered if there were still people on Anser now, eking out an existence. If Godfrey had left, how many others might have done the same? Perhaps because her meeting with Godfrey had sparked a desire to remember the past again, she found herself wanting to talk about the last time she saw her father. She lifted the leather collar, still in her hands. “The morning he left, our old hund Kaver was hanging around, generally getting underfoot. He was too old and blind to lead the hund pack by then, but he would always get excited when he figured out that Dad was going out on the snowfields.”

  She looked up at Karl, who was listening with rapt attention. Her mouth curved in a small smile. “Dad hated skiffs, just despised them; he much preferred to travel by hund sled. He said he felt like an interloper in a skiff, but in a hund sled, he felt as if he belonged out on the snowfields.”

  She took a steadying breath. “My dad packed his gear, planning to spend the night out on the snowfields, and Godfrey—you met him today; he was our neighbor—helped my father harness the hund team. I remember, Dad and I talked about dinner for the following day; he promised me lasagna.” In some ways she barely recognized that younger version of herself; her life had changed entirely since then, and she along with it.

  “You wouldn’t know it from looking at me, but my dad was so tall; he had to bend down to kiss me on the forehead. He told me, ‘See you soon, little bird.’ That was his nickname for me. He went outside and put his pack on the sled. I stood in the window to wave goodbye, like I always did. He blew me a kiss and called to the hund team. They took off. That was the last I ever saw of him alive.” The lump in her throat threatened to choke her off, but she got the words out. It was a strange relief.

  “What happened to him?” Karl asked softly.

  Could she tell the rest? She’d gone this far, and Karl was a good listener—she might as well try. “He was far from our settlement, searching for ice of sufficient density to build a tower on. The surface snow on Anser is white, of course, but below that is bluer, denser ice; that’s what he was after. The upper snowpack repeatedly freezes and thaws as the seasons change, and it crystalizes the snow into firn.”

  Karl looked at her questioningly.

  “It’s…” She struggled to describe it. “It’s kind of a gritty ice. As layers of ice and snow build, the firn becomes denser and denser, eventually becoming blue, compacted glacial ice.”

  She kept getting caught up in the details—probably because she was afraid to talk about the actual events. She tried to pull the story back together. “The glacier where he was working was riddled with crevasses, long seams that sometimes extend into the ice for dozens or hundreds of feet. But he was always so careful. He carried a pole to test the solidity of the terrain as he went along, and he would always keep his ice axe in hand, ready to sink into the nearest solid surface if he lost his footing.”

  Karl frowned. “Your father sounds like he was an expert at traveling on Anser. What went wrong?”

  Maybe she should’ve been put off by the directness of the question, but she wasn’t. “It took me a while to find out. I didn’t worry on that second day that he was gone. He frequently underestimated how long his work would take him. But on the third day, Harmattan—he was our lead hund after Kaver became too old—came running home, and I knew something was terribly wrong.”

  She remembered the clench of panic in her stomach, seeing Harmattan on the edge of complete exhaustion but still in a frenzy. He had nearly driven her from the house, whining and fretting. She had made him eat and drink before leaving because she was afraid he would die if she didn’t.

  “Dad always left me his projected route, and I threw together a pack and went to Godfrey’s house to tell him what happened. He knew how serious it was. A lead hund never, never leaves his team—and the team would never have left Dad. We set off with Godfrey’s hund team along Dad’s route.”

  Karl held up a hand in disbelief. “Wait. A dog team was the fastest way to reach his location?”

  Elsa nodded, knowing it must sound strange to someone with his background. “Anser isn’t like other worlds; tech just isn’t readily available. I notified the local
wardens before we left, and they promised to send a cutter to investigate, but finding a working, available cutter to dispatch could take hours. I wouldn’t wait.”

  She continued, “Godfrey and I took turns riding behind the sled all that day, following Harmattan until he couldn’t continue, and then forcing him to ride the sled. We came upon Dad’s camp as the sun was dipping low on the horizon. The rest of the hund team was nowhere to be seen, although his sled was still anchored in the snow near his tent. That was strange; my dad always tethered the team near his base camp if he was going out on foot.”

  She remembered how Harmattan had leaped from the sled and ran a short distance, looking over his shoulder at her and letting out a string of loud, yowling barks, which was unusual for him. He was a quiet hund. “Harmattan was—oh, he was so smart. We followed him, and he ran so quickly that Godfrey’s team had trouble keeping up. Just when Godfrey was afraid we’d have to stop soon due to the failing light, Harmattan slowed, treading carefully. We knew what that meant. Lots of crevasses.”

  Her hands were knotted tightly in her lap, every muscle taut. “I caught sight of my father’s hund team, lying on the snow up ahead of us. They whined in excitement as we drove up, but something was wrong. None of them ran to me. They cowered in place, hugging the ground and crying miserably. They had torn their tethers out of the ice. I jumped off the sled to follow Harmattan.”

  Elsa paused, submerged in the memory. She remembered having to force herself to move, terrified of what she might find. “He darted in front of me suddenly, blocking my path. He barked once. I realized I was on the brink of a deep crevasse. It blended into the surroundings so perfectly in the bad light, I had almost stepped into it without seeing it.”

  She shivered. “The place wasn’t a good one to be. Harmattan was crying softly to himself. I knelt down and peered into the crevasse, which was deep—at least sixty feet. I couldn’t see the bottom in the dusk. The hum of a cutter’s engines broke over the snowfields; the wardens had arrived at last.”

  The fear of that moment was so vivid that she felt as if the air had frozen in her lungs, but the story was nearly finished. “The cutter’s lights played over Godfrey, the hunds, and me, and then they shone briefly into the crevasse, illuminating the crevice in the ice. Dad’s body lay sprawled at the bottom.” She remembered screaming, only vaguely aware that Godfrey had caught her and was holding her tight. She couldn’t see anything but her father’s body.

  Karl’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and she remembered that he had lost his mother at a young age as well—a distant part of her wondered if perhaps her story had reminded him of a similar experience. “I am so very sorry, Elsa.” He took her hand gently.

  A drop splashed onto their clasped hands, and she looked at it dumbly for a second before realizing it was one of her tears. She didn’t even remember when she began crying.

  Karl sat with her in silence as she wept, quietly holding her hand. “Was there ever an inquest into his death?” he finally asked when her tears had mostly dried.

  Startled by the question, she stammered a reply. “What? N-no. I don’t think it was even discussed. Or maybe it was and I just don’t remember,” she added, recalling the turbulent, awful days after Helias Vogel’s death. Discovering the extent of their debt. Making the decision to leave Anser through the crippling haze of her grief. Selling the house without letting herself think about it too much. Saying goodbye to old Kaver and giving him to Mr. Neilson. She shook off that particular memory.

  Seeing that she was off-balanced, Karl hastened to reassure her. “I’m sure everything was done properly,” he said quickly. “It just seems like the circumstances of his death were unusual. Perhaps he had a medical condition even he was unaware of? If so, maybe you should look into his medical records,” he suggested tentatively. “You’re welcome to use my codes to access the higher-level Fleet networks, if that’s helpful. Sometimes there are genetic conditions that don’t manifest themselves until later in life, and if that’s something that could also affect his daughter, you should know about it.”

  Elsa considered that. She had spent so much time putting her father’s death behind her that maybe she hadn’t analyzed the details enough. “I’ve never thought of that,” she conceded. “For so long his death was such a raw wound, I tried not to think about it at all.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

  Karl nodded. “That makes sense to me. My father was that way when my mother passed away. He wouldn’t even talk about her anymore.” A shadow passed over his face. Elsa realized she had never seen him look sad. Was he always that upbeat, or was he so accustomed to hiding his emotions that his face was unused to displaying sadness?

  “That must have been incredibly difficult for you,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ve both lived through some difficult times, it seems.” He looked up at her. “I admire your strength, Elsa. It took no small amount of courage to rebuild your life after your losses. Thank you for telling me your story.”

  She smiled, feeling the salt from her dried tears pull against her skin. “Thank you for listening.”

  He gave her that signature Karl Tsarevich smile in return. “It was an honor.” He let go of her hand with a touch of reluctance and stood. “I should be going. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with sleepiness on top of nausea during tomorrow’s shift.”

  She rose as well, a rueful expression on her face. “You’re not wrong. But thank you for coming over tonight.” She took a shaky breath. “Telling that story was probably good for me, and worth losing a little rest.”

  Before she could say more, he pulled her into a close hug. He felt warm and safe, and her next breath wasn’t shaky at all, just contented. She was sorry when he let go.

  “Sleep well tonight, Elsa,” he murmured, and was gone.

  The next afternoon, after another shift during which Elsa kept her feet firmly rooted on the Sovereign’s hull doing maintenance work along the gunwale, she met Godfrey in the Sovereign’s galley for dinner. She felt better about how the day had gone, learning skills she could use places other than the sails, and as she filled her tray, she chatted to Godfrey all the while.

  “Remember how we used to covet fresh fruit and vegetables on Anser? I have to admit, access to fresh food was one of the best things about becoming a cinder. One of the only good things about when I first became a cinder, to be honest,” she amended. “I thought I’d have to leave that behind when I came aboard the Sovereign,” she confided, “but thank goodness for the hydroponics gardens on the lower decks.”

  “Oh, I remember. Milcent used to complain incessantly about the terrible food on Anser,” he groused as he spooned ship-grown potatoes onto his plate. His tone reminded her so strongly of him as a boy that she felt as if she had stepped back in time. She half-expected a swirl of cold Anser wind to blow in through the open galley door.

  She rolled her eyes at the memory of their mutual friend as she and Godfrey sat down at a table. “It was never terrible, just not very heavy on the veggies. But Milcent was a little spoiled, as I recall.” She was being diplomatic: Milcent was more than a little spoiled. “I admit, I haven’t kept in touch with her at all either, much to my shame. Have you heard from her?” She and Milcent hadn’t been close, but Elsa still wished she had kept better track of her Anser friends.

  Godfrey swallowed his first bite before answering. “Not in a year or so, but last I heard she was doing well, serving as a scientist aboard the Nenuphar.” He paused. “We were engaged, you know,” he said, his voice blunt and matter-of-fact.

  Elsa stared at him in dismay. “What? You and Milcent?” She heard the horror in her voice and backpedaled. “I mean,” she amended, “you two just didn’t seem to have much in common when we were kids. When I left, I didn’t realize you felt that way about her.” After a pause, she confided, “I thought you hated her, actually.”

  During their growing-up years, the three of them had been friends in the way of m
ost children, based entirely on proximity. The events on Anser had matured Milcent over the years, but Elsa still remembered her as insufferable, and imagining her with Godfrey, of all people—stoic, no-frills Godfrey—made her head spin.

  Godfrey laughed with more than a hint of awkwardness. “It was a sudden decision. Probably a stupid one. But she was able to get me a job in the Fleet since I was her fiancé.” He sobered, looking at his hands as he leaned on his elbows.

  Elsa remembered those hands when they were calloused from gripping a sled and checking hund harnesses all day. Eons had passed since then, it seemed. She leaned forward to catch his words as he spoke again, much more quietly.

  “She was my ticket off of Anser. But I had no right to use her that way,” he said. “You know Milcent. She’s brilliantly smart. Got assigned as a science trainee on a sloop right away.” He looked up at Elsa. “Maybe you heard? Was that before you left?”

  “Just,” Elsa admitted. “But I was in no shape to be socializing then.” She forced a smile, remembering those horrible last months on Anser after her father died. “Those were rough times.”

  Godfrey winced in sympathy. “I know. I would’ve talked to you about my plans, but…” he gestured helplessly. “Didn’t know what to say to you. I wished there was more I could do for you, but I didn’t know what it might be. You would’ve been better suited to the Fleet than me,” he said, mouth quirked in a small smile. “I didn’t take the required courses in school, and anyway I was never cut out for officer material. Best I ever got was rigger. But even a job scrubbing decks was better than icing on Anser.”

  Elsa shook her head, trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the boy she’d known back home. “I thought you’d never leave Anser. What changed?”

  Godfrey looked at her levelly, but there was a spark of anger in his normally reserved gaze. “The planet was dying, Elsa. There was no reason to stay, no opportunity to get anywhere.” He shook his head. “I ran a courier sled service for a while, but too many people had left. I couldn’t make a living.”