The Ruby Celeste Series - Box Set, books 1 - 3: Ghost Armada, Dire Kraken, and Church of Ife

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “Okay.”

  Again, Brie’s mouth worked. Francis was sure she was going to say something. What, he didn’t know—didn’t want to know. So before he could feel any more awkward, he quickly said, “Well, see you later,” then turned and darted away, praying she wouldn’t follow.

  Kraken

  (Chapter Six)

  1

  More coffee. That was how Ruby would survive the day.

  She’d slept poorly last night, again. Her mind kept going to all the riches they might uncover—if Tesla’s colleagues hadn’t made off with it. And they might well have; thus far the Harbinger hadn’t picked up their beacon. On the other hand, neither the Exceptional Luck’s nor the family ship’s had shown up on its limited sensors either.

  Good. Things were still hopeful.

  The little sleep Ruby had got was raggy and full of holes. Twice she awoke and checked the time, only to find it too early. And now, this: the third time unceremoniously ejected from her slumber: an hour before the summer’s early dawn, and a good forty minutes before she was due to rise herself.

  Still, she dressed, and headed to the Harbinger’s empty cafeteria, filling a mug with steaming black coffee.

  She traipsed to the ship’s command centre. The night-shifters were still on for another hour and a half.

  “Morning,” she greeted.

  “Hey,” said Wren, looking up from her console. Brie and Owen chimed along with her, Owen giving a little wave from the rear of the room which Ruby returned. “Up early, Captain.”

  “Thought I’d try something new,” she said. “How’s our progress?”

  “Steady. We’re on track to arrive at around midday, give or take a little.”

  “How about the ship?”

  “All in the usual working order,” said Owen.

  Switching to the Harbinger from the Pantheon had been a breath of fresh air in a lot of ways. The Pantheon was old; the Harbinger was almost new. Four or five years out of date at the most, and though it too was second-hand—well, third—it worked at optimum capacity, trumping the Pantheon in almost every way.

  Almost, Ruby lamented. For all its bells and whistles, the Harbinger would never be as dear to her as the Pantheon had been.

  She pushed the thought aside. No sense being melancholic. There were other things to focus on today.

  2

  Francis was filling plastic containers with muesli for the morning’s breakfast when Ruby appeared in the doorway.

  “Morning,” she said, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and wearing a lopsided smile.

  “Hey,” said Francis. “Wanna help?”

  “Nah. Really I just came to watch.” She snickered. “Go on, tell me what to do.”

  “Grab some evaporated milk? There’s a tub … somewhere over there.” Francis waved noncommittally at one of the racks.

  Ruby stood beside it. Her eyes raked side to side. “Mikhail would have a field day if I sent him down here to take inventory. So disorganised.” To emphasise, she held up two jars of basil: one from the bottom shelf, one nearer the top.

  “I’d have a field day, too; after he reordered it, I’d never find anything.”

  “Oh?” Ruby cocked her head. “I was under the distinct impression you could never find anything already. Clearly I was mistaken.

  “Here we go,” she said a few moments later. She took the drum of milk powder, eased its dusted lid in firmly, and tucked it under her arm.

  “Cool,” said Francis. He sealed his own containers, then dropped the sack he’d been scooping muesli from into a heap. “Done.”

  “And now I see why the pantry is so disordered.”

  “What do you mean? I know where the muesli is. Look; it’s there.”

  They headed toward the cafeteria. A yawn threatened to burst from Ruby’s lips; she forced it away. More coffee was in order.

  She asked, “Much planned for the day?”

  “Nope. Mikhail wondered if I’d help with cannon maintenance, but last time I did that, Peters set one off when I was next to it and my ears rung for three days.”

  “Ah.”

  “Mm.”

  Arriving in the canteen, Francis handed over his tubs of muesli to Sam, and Ruby deposited the drum of evaporated milk on a countertop.

  “Can we help at all, Sam?” she asked.

  He grunted the equivalent of a no. Ruby and Francis waited on the opposite side of the serving station, watching the cook butter toast. His hand was quick. Practised, but not precise.

  “We’re arriving soon,” Ruby told Francis. “Just before twelve.”

  “Is the cluster in range yet?”

  “Not when I’d left the control centre. But I’m sure it’ll be soon. If it was a forest, it must be a huge land mass. Perhaps on par with Mr Wong’s weather station, I’d hazard. Or larger.”

  “We saw that early, though. And we didn’t arrive until mid-afternoon.”

  Ruby shrugged. “It’ll turn up. Anyway, there’s a lot of cloud cover up ahead; it’s probably just concealed from view.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyhow, I’ll ping you later. We could head out onto the deck; see it first-hand instead of through cameras.”

  “Okay. Sure, yeah, that’ll be cool.”

  Ruby clapped her hands together. “Excellent,” she said.

  3

  But they couldn’t see it first-hand. Two hours later, Francis and Ruby stood at the fore of the topside deck, looking out above the railing. All they could see, approaching slowly, was a fat cloud painted in the sky, globby and white.

  “That’s going to be a pain to navigate,” Francis said.

  Ruby fiddled distractedly with her bottom lip. “We’ve always got radar.” As an afterthought, she added, “We’ll just have to take it slow.”

  “Why’s it so thick?”

  “They all get a bit misty,” Ruby said.

  “Misty?” Francis looked at her sideways with wide eyes. “There’s misty, and then there’s that.”

  “Well, maybe a cloud drifted into it and got caught.”

  “This high?”

  “It happens.”

  Francis looked sceptical, and didn’t say anything. Ruby was glad; she felt about the same. He was right: this wasn’t mist. That shroud ought to have been thin and translucent. Instead the blanket was thick enough as to be opaque.

  Could a cloud have drifted in? Ruby had thought so this morning, when it was the only thing the cameras picked up. Only a couple of hours ago she could have convinced herself the forest was behind the cover; pass through and out the other side and there it would be. Now, though, she doubted even that. They were too close, and this imposing ball of cotton too large.

  And what of the Exceptional Luck? Still there was no beacon.

  Ruby tamped down her perplexity. There had to be some logical explanation.

  The answer came slow. Francis was saying something next to her, but Ruby’s eyes stared off ahead, and her fingers pulled at her lip, until—

  “Maybe it’s blocked by the trees.”

  “What?”

  “The beacon. Its signal might be weakened by the trees, and we can’t pick it up.”

  “But Tesla’s weather station picked it up a couple of hundred miles out.”

  “Yes, but did you see those massive radio dishes he had at his disposal? That’s exactly what they’re for: picking up long-range, weak signals. The Harbinger—almost everything is built for short-range, and the obvious. Stupid bucket.” Ruby stamped as if the ship could feel it.

  “So how are we supposed to find it, then?” Francis asked. “If we’re not careful, we might end up going down as well.”

  Ruby thought, eyes roving. And then, like a light going off in her mind, it hit her:

  “We go above.”

  4

  A swath of white hung below the Harbinger. Francis had watched through the ship’s many cameras as it sunk lower, and then beneath. But as it moved and Ruby asked Amelie a
nd Sia to check broadcast frequencies, her excitement turned back to confusion. Because no matter how they looked, still no beacon.

  “Could it have run out of juice?” Francis asked. “Tesla said they detected it, what, ten days ago now?”

  “No,” said Natasha from her station, and shook her head. “Beacons are built to broadcast for months, not weeks. It should be out there.”

  “Should,” said Ruby drily from the front of the room. Her arms were folded tight, her eyebrows drawn low.

  Amelie: “Should I check again, Miss Celeste?”

  “No. Pulse our radar. Maybe we’ll find the crash site that way.”

  “Will do, Captain.”

  The Harbinger’s systems worked.

  Amelie said, “Compiling an overlay now. It’s …” The technician fell silent, frowning. She stared at her screen.

  “What?” Ruby prompted. She crossed to Amelie’s station and looked over her shoulder.

  “There’s something in there … but topography doesn’t match a rainforest.” The technician’s words came slow and careful. “Unless it’s an error …?” She trailed off. “Pulsing radar again, Miss Celeste. Bear with me.”

  Five seconds; ten …

  “I don’t understand,” said Amelie. “The variation is all wrong. Some places it’s lumpy, others smooth …”

  Ruby huffed. “Trove, get Tesla,” she instructed sharply. “I want him in here now.”

  “On my way, Captain.”

  The air was tense. Ruby marched back and forth. Her face was drawn.

  Francis exchanged a glance with Natasha. She looked just as confused as he felt.

  “Here, Miss Celeste,” Trove said when he returned.

  Ruby whirled before her assistant had even finished speaking. She stormed past him, to Tesla, who was barely through the doorway before the diminutive captain’s full might descended upon him.

  “You told me the Exceptional Luck crashed in a rainforest. Well, there’s nothing here. We haven’t even picked up the damn thing’s beacon.”

  Tesla looked around the room, at the screens. “Huh?”

  “Nothing,” Ruby said. “We’ve checked all public broadcast channels, and all of them are empty. No Exceptional Luck, nor the ship that went down before it, and if those wonderful colleagues of yours happened to crash as well, no sign of their beacon either.”

  “Calm down,” Tesla said. “Maybe they got here first and switched the beacons off—you know, so other grave-robbers didn’t show up to see what they could lay their claws on.”

  Ruby’s nostrils flared.

  “Fine. Then explain this.” Snatching his wrist, she marched him to Amelie’s console and the radar results. Jabbing a finger at the overlay it had generated, she said, “Whatever that thing in the cloud is, it is not a rainforest.”

  Tesla jerked his hand from Ruby’s grip and stooped to look at the screen. He rubbed his chin.

  “Looks artificial,” he said.

  “I don’t give a shit what it looks like!” Ruby cried. “You lied to me.”

  Tesla rounded on her. “No I didn’t!”

  “Yes, you did. You said there was something out here, but there’s nothing.”

  “I didn’t lie!” Tesla shouted. Impressively, he didn’t shrink under Ruby’s glare, but seemed to inflate. “The Exceptional Luck broadcasted three stills from the ship’s cameras from the hours leading up to its crash. A floating rainforest, six hours prior; another closer view four hours before; then, two hours before they dropped their beacon, a still from inside the forest: trees and fucking vines. So unless the beacon was a dupe, that ship crashed inside a damn rainforest.”

  “So where the fuck is it now?” Ruby demanded. “Do you see a rainforest?”

  “Do you?” Tesla countered sarcastically.

  Ruby looked ready to hit him. Her face twitched. Her hands flexed. Francis was sure she made to reach for the hilt of her sword, but caught herself.

  “You damned—”

  “Miss Celeste!” Amelie called.

  Ruby ceased. Without averting her deathly glare from Tesla, she said, “Yes, Amelie?”

  “We just got pulsed by radar.”

  “What?” Now Ruby turned. “From where?”

  “Down below.”

  “In the cloud?”

  “I believe so, yes. Trying to triangulate its source now, but the pulse was brief.”

  Ruby spun back to Tesla. “You led us into a trap!”

  “Oh yes, of course!” he snapped. “I locked myself in a closet and almost died just so I could lure a bunch of people I’d never even met to their deaths.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous—”

  “I swear to you, Wong—”

  Amelie cried, “Miss Celeste!”

  Below, the cloud of white exploded. It surged skyward.

  “What the—”

  In just seconds, every camera feed was swallowed in a haze of white.

  A darkening haze, Francis saw with alarm.

  “What the hell just happened?” Ruby asked.

  It was Tesla that answered, his voice grim. “Well done. You’ve just walked your ship right into a supercell.”

  Voices erupted; Ruby shouting at Tesla, while Natasha barked orders at the female technicians to pull the ship up as fast as they could go.

  “What?” Francis asked. “What’s a supercell?”

  Trove answered. “A storm. And a damn big one. Brace yourself; we’re in for a ride.”

  5

  “How the hell did that thing swallow us so fast?” Ruby demanded. “Storms don’t grow that quick.”

  “They don’t ping us with radar, either,” Amelie said.

  Every camera showed the same: eddying grey, deepening every second.

  “Pull us up,” Ruby said to Natasha.

  “Already on it.”

  High-pitched plinking sounds started in all directions. In less than a second it went from a smattering to a roaring onslaught.

  “It’s hailing,” Amelie announced.

  Cameras flashed with light; thunder boomed, deafening.

  Francis jumped. “That was close by.”

  “Of course it was,” Natasha said matter-of-factly. “We’re inside the storm.” She cast Francis a brief apologetic look. “Trove did warn you.”

  Brilliant white forks illuminated the murk on-screen, and the air screamed as it tore apart.

  “Wind speeds picking up,” Amelie said. “It’s bursting through our sphere!”

  “How fast?” Ruby asked.

  “Fifty kilometres per hour and rising. Sixty—sixty-five. Sevent—”

  And then the world exploded as something slammed into the ship.

  6

  Reams of red text surged. The main console winked out before kicking itself back into life, losing the main camera feeds in favour of a schematic of the Harbinger. Several systems had shifted into amber. One condenser had gone red, blinking hazardous warnings before Amelie overrode it and switched the machine off.

  The impact had been enough to throw everyone from their seats or feet. Tesla thrust up from sprawling, face terrified; Trove, pale, clung to the doorframe; Francis gripped his seat from his resting place on the floor. Blood spattered from his nose, and sharp pain pulsed across his midsection.

  “What was that?” Ruby gasped. “Cannon fire?”

  “If it was, it knocked us half a kilometre earthward,” said Sia. Maroon trickled from her hairline.

  “Cameras? Did we catch anything?”

  “Reviewing now,” Amelie said.

  “Which direction did it come from?”

  Sia: “Starboard.”

  “Trove, radio Mikhail. I want him and the others down by the cannons. Tell them we’re under attack.”

  “I daresay he knows, Miss Celeste,” Trove replied grimly, but did as instructed.

  “Got it!” Amelie cried. “It’s—there’s—”

  Something erupted from the dark and crashed into the ship again. Ala
rms wailed.

  Francis crashed into the wall.

  The Harbinger spun.

  “Cameras offline—”

  “Fire all cannons—”

  “We don’t have a target—”

  “I don’t care! Fire all cannons, on my mark! Mark—”

  Francis groaned. The world lurched. Hands were on him, turning him over. Natasha. Her eyes were wide. Afraid.

  “Francis!”

  “Think I broke something,” he wheezed. He coughed a fine puff of red mist.

  “Natasha, I need you—”

  Thunder; the ship, this time, unloading into the storm.

  “—at your station—”

  “Francis is hurt!”

  Ruby hurried over. She dropped to her knee. “Francis? Francis, you’re bleeding.”

  “So are the rest of us!” That was Tesla.

  “You can stand,” Ruby hissed without turning.

  Someone must have touched Francis’s side, because pain—already white hot—exploded. He gasped, felt the world greying all around him. Thunder rumbled again, distant, but Francis didn’t hear.

  “His ribs are broken,” Natasha said. “We need to get him to Darrel.”

  “It’s not safe,” said Ruby. “If we take another hit—”

  Another blast threw the Harbinger into a deathly spin. Francis felt himself lift from the ground as the ship juddered downward—and then he hit the deck once more, and a scream of agony took his consciousness.

  7

  Ruby stumbled sideways, cascading along the wall as the Harbinger spun and tilted. Then the ship righted, and again her feet almost went out from under her as the incline she fought vanished.

  “Francis,” she breathed.

  Natasha was already back by his side. “He’s unconscious.” She gave her captain a terrified look. In her careful grip, Francis was deathly pale. For the papery colour of his face, the blood dripping down his nose and from his lips was even starker. “Ruby, we need to get the hell out of here before we all die.”

  Natasha was right. Another couple of impacts and the Harbinger’s hull would split; one more after that and they’d all be toast. But what to do? With cameras knocked offline, and little good regardless for the torrential storm shrieking about them, they had no visual on their assailant. All they could do was desperately pray the ship rose out of the thunderheads.