Long, sleek and black, it began as a point, widened and then blossomed at the back in a flower-like arrangement of bulbs that held the Volum. A single cannon ran from end to end; no side cannons, but there was no need. The entire ship was coated in a thin layer of material to direct thrust: Rhod had unequalled turning speed and fidelity. If he needed to realign for a shot, he could do so. Not that he planned on opening fire on the Pantheon.
Well. Maybe just once.
Rhod climbed in via side door, headed down the corridor and into the control room. An arc-shaped console spread out in front of the viewing screen, a plush chair bolted down underneath. Rhod hefted into it, then brought his systems online. The computer asked him where he wanted to go, and he answered, “Cacophonous Harmonics.” It paused to evaluate what he’d said, and a moment later updated the display to show an image of the SkyPort, plus travel time. From here, a little over twenty-four hours.
“Well then,” Rhod said. “Let’s go.”
Without much more than a very low noise, Rhod’s ship pulled out of the parking bay. It reoriented itself, moving in a small curve to point straight for its destination. And then it began to move; slowly at first, but picking up speed with every second.
On screen, the timer ticked down. When it reached zero, Rhod would find Celeste—and his revenge would be had.
Cacophonous Harmonics
(Chapter Sixteen)
1
For the past twenty-four hours, a low feeling of tension had pervaded the Pantheon’s crew. Finally they were on the last stretch of the trek to Cacophonous Harmonics. Due to arrive sometime soon, that tension had fizzled out until it was replaced by relief: relief that, at long last, they were almost safe.
Regular tasks on the Pantheon had been interrupted. The workhands were without work—no sense maintaining a ship on the verge of falling apart—while the ship’s technicians had long since given up attempting to get their computer systems working normally again. Now most of the crew were milling about, some in their quarters, some in the library or rec room. For Francis, the place to be was the control room: Natasha was there, slumped over her workstation, along with Mikhail, who had taken up Stefan’s vacant seat.
“Won’t be long now,” Natasha mumbled.
Francis nodded.
“Afternoon, troops.”
Their heads all swung to the doorway at once. Entering at a hobble, a swath of bandages wrapped around her midriff, was Ruby.
“Miss Celeste!” Natasha cried. She was up on her feet immediately. Ruby waved her off and dropped down into the closest seat. “You shouldn’t be up and about in your condition.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Her eyes looked over the screen in front of her, but it was garbled. She surveyed the few in the room, eyes falling last to Francis and then dropping to the floor. “Status report?”
“Did Darrel let you leave?”
“Easy, Natasha,” Ruby said. “No, he didn’t, but I gave him an order and he was unable to refuse.”
Natasha was no more pacified by that, but sat back into her seat regardless, her face drawn tight.
“Now,” Ruby went on, “status report?”
“Most systems still offline,” said Amelie. “I can give you a blow-by-blow account …”
“That won’t be necessary. How close are we to port?”
“Not sure; with cameras offline, we’re performing visual checks. Should be there soon, though.”
“Speaking of,” Natasha said. She pushed up onto her feet and headed for the door. “I’d best go do one. See you shortly.”
Ruby rearranged herself in the seat, slowly. A distinctly pained expression crossed her face as she moved. Then she looked up, met Francis’s eyes. Her mouth worked.
Trove stepped through the door. “Miss Celeste! Darrel just informed me—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve had it all already,” Ruby said wearily. “Take a seat. I’m waiting for Natasha’s report on our progress.”
Trove sat down, looking discomfited. “I really think,” he began, but Ruby shot him a tired look and he silenced.
The wait for Natasha’s radio call was quiet, but short. Thirty seconds later Amelie’s communicator clicked.
“Hey, Amelie. Looks like we’re almost there. I can see the port up ahead; half a mile away at most. Parking bays are pretty empty, so should be simple enough to pull up. I’ll stay on deck to direct.”
“Excellent.”
“There’s another ship out here,” Natasha said. “I guess that’s heading for Harmonics too. I’ll keep an eye on it, make sure we give it a wide berth.”
“Great.” Amelie’s screen cycled through to the navigation controls. The display flickered precariously, but held. “Awaiting further instructions.”
Francis sat forward in his chair. At last, after what felt like weeks, they were inches from victory. The ship would be repaired. Francis would get to see if someone might know a way he could get home. And whatever happened with him, the crew would get some time out, too. A godsend after this past fortnight.
Something beeped; a noise Francis didn’t recognise.
“Err, Miss Celeste?” said Amelie. “We’re being hailed.”
“Patch it through.”
Amelie entered a string of commands. “It should be connected. Assuming—”
She was cut off by the booming, bark-like voice that blared from the speakers.
“I demand to speak to Ruby Celeste!”
Curious faces turned to Ruby. She looked just as confused as the rest of them. Picking herself up, she half-limped to Amelie’s station. Amelie evacuated the seat, and Ruby took it.
“This is she. Who am I speaking to?”
“Aha. Ruby Celeste. It was only a matter of time before I caught up to you.” The man laughed, a sneering and unpleasant noise. The speakers warbled and then cut off the transmission. Ruby jabbed at the keyboard. Something worked: the noise ceased and was replaced by that brutish voice:
“—made a laughing stock out of me, Celeste. And nobody makes a laughing stock out of me.”
More harshly, Ruby repeated, “Who am I speaking to?”
“Rhod Stein! Remember? You stole from me, blew a hole in my SkyPort, and then killed every single man I sent to bring me your head on a stick!”
Francis glanced about the room. Tension choked the atmosphere again. Mikhail looked fraught. Wheels turned behind his eyes.
“Natasha,” he mumbled.
“So the old adage is true,” Rhod went on. “If you want something doing, you have to do it yourself.”
Mikhail jerked up and crossed the room in three long strides. “Natasha,” he repeated, more urgently. “She’s on deck. She’s—”
“By the way, Celeste: your ship is looking awfully damaged. Won’t you allow me to help?”
Ruby slammed the keyboard and cut the transmission, then spun to face Mikhail. “Hail her now!”
2
Up on the top deck, Natasha watched the diminutive SkyPort grow. In just a moment she would need to radio Amelie and give the final course corrections.
As she waited, she glanced backward at the other ship she’d seen. Black, bulbous to the rear, it appeared to have stopped, hovering some distance behind. Waiting for the Pantheon to park? Maybe; this ship was a state. The black vessel’s pilot was probably just being considerate so as not to put any extra stress on the occupants of this wreck.
Her communicator clicked. An incoming transmission from Mikhail. “Yes?”
“Natasha! You need to come down from the deck!” His voice was frantic.
“What?”
“Get down! That other ship—it’s Stein, and he’s—”
Rhod!
Natasha looked up at the other ship, horror written over her features.
Then an explosion, and the world turned white.
3
“It’s Stein, and he’s about to open fire!”
Mikhail never finished the sentence. The Pantheon was rocked by the bigge
st explosion Francis had ever felt. He was flung from his seat and crashed into the wall. Pain exploded across his ribs. And still the rumbling didn’t end.
Alarms wailed, barely audible over the ringing in his ears.
When Francis opened his eyes again, the world was lopsided. The lights had gone off, replaced by a single flashing red beacon that painted the control centre the shade of a nightmare. And—had the opposite wall split apart?
“Natasha! What happened to Natasha?”
“I don’t know! All I’ve got is static!”
Francis shoved onto his feet. The world should have evened out, but it didn’t: this whole room was canted, one side higher than the rest. Wood panelling had split from the wall, and beneath was rusted metal, sheared apart.
“What’s going on?” Francis said. Something creaked under him, and he slipped sideways and hit the wall. It was harder to right himself this time; every moment the world turned more on edge.
“What’s going on?”
“Brace yourselves!” Ruby shouted. “I think we’re going to crash!”
Francis gaped. “Crash? Into what?”
A rumble like no other shook the ship as it collided with something—The SkyPort, some working part of Francis’s mind told him. Steel shrieked and tore: a bestial metal moan, wending through the Pantheon like a final agonised scream. The floor shook. Again, Francis careened into the wall. He held on desperately, but the room didn’t stop turning; screams were buried by the noise as bodies slid past. One of the workstations disconnected, cables holding it for a moment before they too ripped apart, and then it smashed steel inches from where Francis was plastered. It tore open a rift and fell into the adjacent corridor.
This is it, Francis thought as his mouth screamed on autopilot and his terrified eyes trawled the room breaking into pieces all around him. I’m going to die.
4
Someone was helping him to his feet. He felt the world spin for a second—were they still crashing?—before a great pair of hands steadied him. He focussed: Mikhail. Behind was what had once been this room’s floor; now a lopsided wall, not entirely solid. A thin sheet of smoke clung to the ceiling, snaking in through holes. Somewhere—maybe everywhere—the Pantheon was ablaze.
“What happened?” Francis gasped.
“We crashed into the SkyPort,” Mikhail answered grimly. “And—Natasha—”
“She’s out there.” Ruby lifted herself from the bedraggled heap she’d landed in, with Trove’s assistance. Her tricorne had been lost; she stooped and pulled it back onto askew hair. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. In the red light it looked nearer black than maroon.
“She was on deck when he attacked,” said Mikhail.
“She’s out there,” Ruby repeated.
“Miss Celeste …” Trove began.
“I said she’s out there!” Ruby cried. Her eyes blazed. Shimmered. Her voice quaked. “I need you to find her.”
Trove: “But …”
“Find her!” Tears spilled down Ruby’s cheeks. She turned from her assistant to Mikhail, moved to him on unsteady feet. One hand gripped her bandaged side. “Mikhail, find Natasha Brady. That’s an order.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Trove. Give the instruction to anyone that somehow missed the alarm. Get off the ship. Then help evacuate the SkyPort before the fire spreads.”
Somewhere they heard a distant rumble. The floor shook again, and Francis clawed desperately at the nearest remaining workstation in case a maw opened and he was swallowed.
“Was that part of the ship?” Trove asked.
“Too far away,” Mikhail said mutely. “Harmonics, maybe.”
“We need to move.” That was Ruby. She surveyed their faces. Wetness on her cheeks reflected the pulsing red light. “The ship is on fire. It’s—it’s falling to pieces.” Her voice broke. She closed her eyes and stood a little taller as if that might hold the tears at bay. Trove moved to clasp her shoulder, but she brushed out of his grip. “Get out. All of you.”
“And you, Miss Celeste,” Trove said.
“I will. But I need to get something first.”
“Then I’ll—”
Ruby rounded on him. “You’re not waiting with me!” she sobbed. “Get off this ship, all of you, and help evacuate the port! I’ll catch up!”
Trove’s face was ashen. He opened his mouth to argue, but Ruby cut across. “That’s an order, Trove Wellbeing. Honour your captain’s orders.”
Finally, he nodded. Reluctantly: “As you wish. Stay safe, Miss Celeste.” And without another word, he moved through a hole carved in the once-floor and disappeared.
“Amelie, go.”
“Yes, Miss Celeste. Stay safe.”
Next, to Mikhail: “Find Natasha.”
“On it. See you topside, Captain.”
That just left Ruby and Francis. He watched. She had seemed so strong, infallibly brave—and here she stood across from him now, bleeding, clutching the wound at her side, her face stricken with tears.
“Go,” she said at last. “With Mikhail. And find her.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But the ship—”
“I’ll be fine.” She stared as if begging him to believe her—and then she lifted her arm, the one gripping her bandage, and unhooked the communicator at her wrist. She tossed it to Francis; he caught it. “Take it. You know how they work. Liaise with the others.”
“Ruby—”
“I’m giving you an order, Francis. You’re part of my crew. So go.”
He wanted to fight, really wanted to. But the others had tried and failed. He had no choice in the matter. So after a moment’s struggle that seemed far longer, Francis gave a curt nod and headed out through the gap in the wall the same way the others had, leaving the Pantheon’s captain alone in her ruined ship.
5
Watching the Pantheon crash into the SkyPort was, without question, the high point of Rhod’s life. And it would only get better: that nefarious captain had a way of snaking out of danger; she’d escaped his clutches within his own SkyPort, making away with a deckhand, and then escaped assassination twice by Imelda’s usually skilled men. So there was little doubt in Rhod’s mind that she had somehow managed to survive the impact.
Which meant he would take the chase onto Cacophonous Harmonics itself.
Whereas The Pharmacologist’s Eden was a sprawling burg of storefronts and plazas, Cacophonous Harmonics was much smaller. Less than a quarter the size of Rhod’s empire, it was one level only, with a few dozen shops. The centre was open—well, mostly; now a wrecked ship occupied part of the space—and heaved with people. They were moving chaotically.
And no wonder, Rhod thought with a cruel smile.
Celeste would escape her ship, he was sure. Directly into chaos. But people dashing madly for the exits didn’t make quite enough chaos to slow her down. It would only take a short run to the parking bay and a lifeboat, and then she would slip out of Rhod’s clutches again.
So maybe he could tip the scales a little further in his favour.
The cannon reloaded, and he swivelled the ship so that it pointed directly at the port’s opposite corner.
“Fire.”
The world flashed with white as one corner of Cacophonous Harmonics disappeared. Debris rained in all directions, and fires flared. The chaos below intensified.
So. That was how it felt to attack a SkyPort. Perhaps it was something Rhod would try again sometime.
No time to think about that right now though. Rhod manoeuvred his craft and prepared to dock. It was time to find Ruby Celeste and exact revenge at last.
6
Escaping the ruined Pantheon alone might have been near impossible, but there were others fighting their way through the ship. Francis caught up with Vala and Stefan as they pushed through a corridor that was now too short to stand in; Vala wrapped him in a tight hug, Stefan clapped him on the shoulder, and they pr
essed through together, Francis following in their wake.
“Where’s Ruby?” Vala asked.
“She’s coming.” At least, Francis hoped so. But he pushed the thought from his mind: first and foremost was finding Natasha. He would have to trust Ruby could take care of herself.
Stefan pulled at a sheet of metal. It held stiff, but then sheared away in one sudden movement. “Whoa!” he cried, backpedalling. Smoke poured out of the wound and plumed up the corridor. “Go back!”
They went back the way they’d come, arms pressed to mouths. The smoke had started as snaking tendrils, but continued to grow thicker. God damn it, why did so much of this ship have to be made of wood?
“This way!” Francis shouted. He pushed through a hole they’d gone past already. The squeeze was tight, and rusted metal tore open his shirt and scratched a crimson streak in his shoulder. He tamped down his gasp. “I think I can see light!”
A dim glow shone up ahead, barely more than a line: a rip in the outer hull? Francis worked toward it. He almost tripped, but Vala caught him, herself steadied by Stefan behind her.
“Thanks,” he breathed.
“Don’t mention it.”
They reached the tear. Sure enough, the air smelled slightly fresher here, seeping in from outside. Francis ran his fingers around the opening in the metal. This was supposed to be several inches thick—would they ever get through?
“It’s barely held together; we can do this. On three!” Stefan said. Francis and Vala nodded. “One, two, three!”
They rammed with their shoulders. It shuddered. They moved back, Stefan counted again, and hit it hard. This time it rocked, but held firm.
“One more should do it,” he grunted. “Give it everything you’ve got. One, two, three!”
The Ruby Celeste Series - Box Set, books 1 - 3: Ghost Armada, Dire Kraken, and Church of Ife Page 18