The air around Karl and Elsa erupted in light, and they both ducked reflexively without slowing their pace. Pistol and rifle shots filled the air, blazing into furry bodies and leaving them strewn across the forest floor.
Arne and Louise stood on a rocky promontory a dozen feet above the forest floor, firing as rapidly as they could down into the roiling mass of squirrels. Karl’s heart leapt.
Behind them stood several other sailors with pistols pointed into the trees, picking off squirrels still coming down from the canopy.
A cleft in the rock appeared in front of them, and Karl dove for it, giving Elsa a little shove to propel her in front of him. She’d probably scold him for that later, but at least now she had a chance to stay alive long enough to do so. They clambered upward through the cleft, emerging a little behind the group on the promontory. The air still blazed with pistol and rifle fire, but Karl grabbed one of the suited figures, spun him around by the shoulder, and gave him a bear hug.
Anders yelped, nearly dropping his pistol.
Karl thumped the other lieutenant on the back enthusiastically. “You’re alive, you son of a plas-gun!”
“Marraine?” Elsa called.
A slim figure in a suit turned after letting off one last shot. “Elsa! So glad you could join us.” The fay flashed an untroubled smile. Her voice sounded odd, and Karl realized that he was hearing it through her helm rather than through the commline.
“How did they bring down your skiff?” Karl asked.
Anders was mad enough to spit. “One of the damn things leapt on us and clawed the starboard thruster all to hell,” he said, voice tinny through his helm. “Had to have lost a paw in the process but it didn’t seem to care much. When we dipped lower as a result, a second one jumped on, and the weight skewed us into one of these blasted trees.” He raised his head, looking around. “That one, I think,” he said, gesturing at a tree with a large scorch mark high up on its trunk. “It crumpled the port thruster, and we fell like a rock. Everybody got a little banged up, but nothing serious. We saw this rocky patch as we made our landing, and when these things ambushed us, we made a run for it. Didn’t realize until we got here that something in the rocks was screwing with our helm commlines.”
Karl nodded, already running through possible consequences if they were stuck on a rock without working commlines. The Sovereign couldn’t contact them now even if they tried, but at least the two skiff beacons were still transmitting.
“May I suggest we leave the reunions for later?” Ginevra asked. “We’re low on ammunition; these are your extra ammo packs we’re using. Ours are nearly dry.”
“Of course,” Karl said hastily. “Where’s Oxlan?”
“Guarding our shelter against these mangy vermin,” Anders said, leading the way towards another opening in the rock. “Arne, Ginevra—you two fall back, we’re heading inside.” Anders turned to Karl eagerly as the others obeyed. “We found this cave—”
Louise screamed. Karl turned in time to see that one of the largest squirrels had managed to get through the cover fire and had made a huge leap to reach the promontory from a nearby tree. It just barely made the jump, claws scrabbling for purchase against the rock. The delay saved Louise’s life; she shot the squirrel just as it regained its balance and launched itself towards her. The shot was well-aimed, and it slowed the squirrel’s advance—but only fractionally. It slashed with a clawed paw, catching Louise’s leg and causing her to fall heavily to the rock, almost underneath the animal.
In the same instant, Elsa’s pistol shot crashed into the squirrel’s chest, bringing it to the rock. Elsa was the closest to Louise, and she dashed forward as she fired, trying to reach the fallen geologist. She hoisted the older woman to her feet, ignoring Louise’s cry of pain, and half-carried her a few steps.
Karl’s eyes widened as a second squirrel attempted the same leap, and he charged past the women, firing madly. The squirrel was dead before it reached the rock, and its body hit with a dull thud and slid down to the forest floor. Karl’s gaze tracked its movement.
As a result, he didn’t see the first squirrel, unbelievably back on its feet, until it had shoved past him and knocked him to the ground with its shoulder.
“Elsa!” he bellowed as he fell. How was that thing not dead by now?
He saw her spin, releasing Louise into Arne’s and Ander’s waiting arms just as the squirrel hit her like an out-of-control skiff.
Somehow Elsa twisted to the side in time to lessen some of the force of the blow, but the squirrel still bore her to the rock, its roars blending with the sound of pistol fire as it knocked the woman flat on her back.
Karl got to his feet, ignoring the stab of pain from a wrenched knee—and blinked again in surprise as he realized that the flashes of pistol fire were coming from under the squirrel. Elsa had managed to slide on her back far enough underneath it that she could avoid its snapping jaws long enough to shoot upward into its skull. The squirrel finally collapsed—with Elsa still underneath.
Karl surged forward, slamming into the squirrel with his shoulder to slide its bulk off of the tiny ex-cinder. The animal shifted, but it wasn’t until Arne and Marraine added their strength that the squirrel slid off of Elsa completely. She lay still on the rock, and Karl’s heart seemed to freeze in his chest.
He grabbed her shoulders with shaking hands, breath caught in his chest, and Marraine knelt beside him. Elsa’s faceplate had been smashed, and her eyes were closed.
Bruno glared at the white creature on the projected view in front of him. Something at the back of his brain kept tugging at him like a child tugging on his mother’s coat. He felt as though he had seen something like this before. But of course he couldn’t have.
The creature in front of them was massive, more than half as large as the Sovereign herself, with a sleek white hide that looked almost pixelated from a distance. Bruno assumed the skin had a scale-like pattern of some kind. Two wing-like projections swept out and down from its body, and a massive tail fanned out behind it. It moved slowly—until it didn’t. Then the tail lashed and suddenly the beast seemed to be gazing straight into the camera.
It was close—far, far too close. “I’m surprised the captain doesn’t shoot it,” Jaq said, wonderment making his voice so quiet that Bruno almost didn’t hear his words.
“He’s probably afraid of what it’ll do in retaliation,” Bruno murmured. “It has an awfully big mouth.” The mouth was closed, but the sides extended so far around either side of the creature’s head that it looked as though it were smiling. Could hide a lot of teeth in there, Bruno figured.
“The shields would protect us,” Gus said with a confidence Bruno found both amusing and disconcerting, given how little they knew about what they were facing. “This thing can’t even exist. How could it survive in space? How does it even move? It’s ridiculous!” He waved a hand at the view.
Bruno shifted impatiently as he finally picked out the memory he had been hunting. “Clearly, it does exist. And I’ve heard stories about these before.”
Gus looked at him sharply. “You have?”
“During my stint working on an ore barge,” Bruno replied, eyes glued to the view. “An old-timer claimed he’d seen a star whale on a deep space scout mission, before the Cendrillon Wars. He was alone for a long time—probably broke our agreement with the Demesne just to be out there—so we just figured he’d been hallucinating. He claimed the animal could even travel through sailspace, but that part was obviously untrue; however unusual this thing is, it doesn’t have engines.”
“Did he say anything else about it?” Gus asked.
Bruno reached for the dregs of that memory. “I wasn’t really listening; I thought he was nuts. I thought he said the star whale—what a stupid name—had a massive dorsal fin, though. This one doesn’t,” he said with a wave towards the creature on the screen.
“Maybe this one is a different variety,” Jaq suggested, still staring.
Gus pointed to the
screen. “We’ve never even seen one giant spaceborne organism in all of humanity’s exploration, and you think there’s a whole assortment of them hiding out there?”
“Well. We’ve seen one now,” Jaq pointed out.
The creature brushed against the shields, sending a shiver along the field protecting the Sovereign. The thing seemed surprised, possibly displeased, by the sensation; it jackknifed itself away from the ship. It spun around to look at the ship head-on, and a gargantuan fin, hidden until now along the ridge of its back, unfolded, adding one third to its size.
“Oh, there’s the dorsal fin,” Jaq commented.
The creature drew back its fan of a tail, and Bruno felt a frisson of unease. “Now what’s it doing?” Gus muttered.
The creature’s tail slammed into the prow of the Sovereign.
The blow was powerful enough to jolt the ship, and Bruno’s fingers tightened on his console to keep himself from falling over. Alarms exploded around the bosun’s station.
“I don’t think he’s very friendly,” Bruno commented.
“When are the skiff teams due back?” Jaq asked. “They’re going to tangle with this thing if it’s still around, and we can’t warn them that it’s here with external communications down.”
Bruno checked the chronometer as the creature swatted them with its tail again. He shut off the squealing alarms in irritation. “They’ve been gone for several hours—probably due back in the next hour. I’m sure the captain’s already thinking about how to get this thing out of our hair.”
“I hope he’s gathering as much sensor data as we can hold,” Gus said. “This creature will probably end up being a more groundbreaking discovery than anything the teams find on the planet.”
The beast cruised around the Sovereign, seemingly examining it from all angles. Every so often, it batted the ship with its tail, testing the shields. Bruno switched from view to view to keep it in sight.
Finally it came to rest above the gunwale, hovering just above the shields. It seemed particularly intrigued by this area of the ship, and it nosed the shields in that section over and over.
“Why would it be interested in that spot specifically?” Bruno’s frown was becoming a permanent furrow.
Gus rubbed a hand along his jaw in thought. “That’s where the sails funnel their energy, right? This thing has to feed on something, and there’s not a lot to eat in space. Maybe it feeds off of radiation. That would explain why it’s hanging around this area; it seemed to come from the backside of the planet when we first saw it. This solar system is full of radiation. He probably thinks sail energy would taste just as good.”
The animal battered the shielding over the gunwale more vigorously, and a few alerts sprinkled themselves over Bruno’s viewscreen.
Jaq sighed. “We’re going to be recalibrating the sails for hours when this is all over.”
Even though Bruno knew the science types in the biology section were doing the same thing with better equipment, he ran a few scans to check for energy emanating from the creature. He whistled. “I think we know why the external comms aren’t working. That thing is a mess of radiation; any communication via external commline would be jammed.”
The captain’s voice came over the internal comms. “Bosuns, prepare for sailspace. We can’t communicate with the skiffs, nor can we lower the shields to let the skiffs return anyway with this creature nearby. We’re going to take a short jaunt around the neighborhood and try to lose it near this system’s sun. With any luck, that’ll give us enough time to get back and rendezvous with the skiffs in an hour.”
“Aye, Captain,” Bruno replied. “Prepping for sailspace. Recommend sail recalibration when we’re in the clear again.”
Jaq shot him a dirty look.
“Acknowledged, bosun.”
Within moments, everything was ready. The Sovereign’s sails flashed palely, then brightened as the ship moved into sailspace. The hop was short; in only a few moments, the new system’s sun was lighting up the viewscreens.
“It probably doesn’t know where we’ve gone,” Jaq said. “Let’s hope it has a short attention span and just wanders off.” He stood up and stretched, eyeing Bruno. “Want us out on the sails?”
Bruno shook his head. “We’re not going to be here long enough. We’ll be heading back in forty-five minutes, if the captain still wants to make the originally scheduled rendezvous. But be ready to recalibrate when we get back to the planet, assuming that thing is gone.”
“Then I’m going to catch a nap,” Jaq declared. “Wake me in thirty,” he called to Gus over his shoulder as he walked out of the bosun’s station.
Elsa’s face was utterly still. Fragments of the broken faceplate were scattered in her hair.
Seeing the largest squirrel’s death, the rest of the animals had disappeared back into the trees, giving everyone a moment’s breathing space to comprehend the seriousness of the situation. Anders put a hand on Karl’s shoulder. “She’s already been exposed to the atmosphere,” he murmured. His voice was sympathetic and pitying.
Karl set his jaw. He needed neither sympathy nor pity; she was alive. He was sure. “Elsa Vogel,” he said, his worry making him sound stern, almost angry. “Wake up.”
The hand he hadn’t realized he had been holding tightened, and Elsa’s legs shifted. Elsa opened her eyes and gave him a groggy smile. “You’re bossy,” she said. She closed her eyes again.
He huffed a laugh that was suspiciously close to a sob. Beside him, Marraine made an odd, whistling sigh of relief. “Yeah,” he replied. “So I’ve been told. How do you feel?”
Her eyes snapped open this time, and she grinned. “Fine, other than a bit of a headache. Your voice sounds funny, though. My helmet commline must have been damaged.” She made as if to sit up, and Karl put a hand on her shoulder to restrain her.
“Are you sure you should be moving?” he asked carefully. “Nothing broken?” She clearly didn’t realize her faceplate had been shattered. He wondered if adrenaline or something in the alien atmosphere was dulling her to whatever physical reactions she should be experiencing as she breathed in who knew what.
“Nope,” she said, sitting up in spite of his restraining hand. “The squirrel never managed to hurt me; it was just blasted heavy. Help me up, will you? My head feels a little woozy.”
He slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, and she looked at him as if noticing his distress for the first time. “What is it? You look as though I’m going to shatter.”
He didn’t trust his voice to answer, so he hoisted her carefully to her feet, expecting to catch her any moment as her lungs ceased to work. The broken shards of the faceplate shifted as he lifted her, falling with a tinkle to the rock below. Elsa’s gaze followed the sound.
“Where did that come from?” Her expression froze, and her hand flew to her helmet. “Oh no.” She felt the faceplate opening with cautious fingers. “Please, no.” She looked at Karl, panic-stricken, and for a wild moment he was tempted to rip off his own helmet and give it to her, even knowing it would do no good at this stage.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as if it were his fault.
“How long do I have?” she asked, fingers still resting on the bottom rim of her helmet.
Anders answered gently. “We don’t know. We had collected air samples but didn’t have time to analyze them before the animals attacked.”
The panic was gone from her eyes, and the spark of determination Karl was used to was back. “So there’s a chance I’ll be okay,” she said. “This atmosphere could be human-compatible. Stars, I feel well enough. No burning in the lungs. No extreme temperatures, at least right now.” She even scraped together the remnants of a smile. “Other than this headache, I don’t have any symptoms, and the sore head might just be from cracking my head on the rock.” She waggled her head experimentally. “In fact, I might as well just—” She reached to unclasp her helmet.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Karl asked hastily.
&nb
sp; She shrugged. “I don’t see how it matters now, and it feels like the back of my head is bleeding.” She carefully drew off her helm, and more broken faceplate fell to the rock.
Beside Karl, Marraine stiffened. He was vaguely aware of the movement but didn’t realize its significance until she screamed, the same inhuman, unearthly scream they had heard over the commline earlier.
Karl leapt to his feet, assuming that more squirrels were attacking. He scanned the trees—nothing. Confused, he looked back over his shoulder at Marraine.
She was crouched at Elsa’s feet, sobbing.
A muddled mix of thoughts flew through Karl’s mind: Had Elsa suddenly worsened? Could Marraine sense when someone was near death? Perhaps Marraine hadn’t understood the significance of the broken helmet until now. Maybe this was some sort of delayed emotional reaction? They knew so little of the fay and their abilities and habits.
Elsa looked just as baffled as he felt. “Marraine, what is it?” She knelt down, bringing herself to her friend’s level. Marraine keened softly, hiding her eyes with her gloved hands. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
Marraine took a deep, shuddering breath and uncovered her face. There were no marks of tears on her face, although she had been weeping—perhaps the fay didn’t even have tear ducts, Karl thought distantly. She seemed to rally her courage. “You’re—you’re bleeding,” she stammered out between trembling lips. Her face twisted again in grief, but she surmounted it with a supreme effort. “I’m grieved by your death.” The phrase had a formal ring to it, reminding Karl of the phrase, “rest in peace.”
Elsa started, her face pale. “I’m not dead yet, Marraine. Do you know something I don’t?”
Marraine reached out a trembling hand, indicating a bleeding cut on the side of Elsa’s head. Karl hadn’t even noticed it before; it was a sizable cut, but it was almost lost amongst the cinder’s brown hair. “You’re bleeding. Your skin has been punctured,” she explained, as if to a child. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose our friendship.” She covered her face again, beginning a sing-song chant of some kind.
The Star Bell (The Cendrillon Cycle Book 3) Page 12