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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  Onward moved the week. Every day, New Harlem fell further and further behind; every day, the last known location of the Exceptional Luck approached for the second time. But though life moved forward, Francis’s guilt did not abate.

  He saw little of Brie over the next half-dozen days. Whenever he did, she was accompanied by one of the technicians; usually Wren, or Amelie and Sia. Those three had formed a collective shield around her, shooting Francis dark glares at best, and nasty chides at worst; usually Amelie, though Wren joined in once or twice too.

  The only silver lining was that the rest of the crew didn’t seem to hate Francis quite as much as he thought. The others still talked to him, though for Francis’s low mood he did his best to keep to himself.

  A couple of times, Reuben looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Francis didn’t press it; Evans was just another of the Harbinger’s members he had alienated during his vicious outburst.

  He tried to hold to what Ruby had said: that time would heal all wounds. Not just Brie’s, but everyone’s.

  Time; an unstoppable march.

  Onward moved the week.

  The Drone Flies

  (Chapter Ten)

  1

  Tap-tap-tap.

  At first the noise incorporated itself into his dream. But when it came again—tap-tap-tap—his eyelids twitched and came open.

  Francis frowned at the empty bedroom. Soft, warm light came in through the porthole. An empty porthole, he noted as he took a glance at it to prove he hadn’t fallen back in time to the drone’s arrival a month ago.

  So what was …?

  Tap-tap-tap.

  The door.

  Easing out of the twisted bedcovers—damn these nights of poor sleep—he called, “Hang on a second.” Undressing fast, he changed, then fished around in a drawer for the door key. Locating it, he slotted it into his side of the lock, twisted, and pulled open.

  On the other side was Brie Channing.

  “Hi,” she said. “I—I wondered if we might—might talk.”

  “Um. Okay. But I need to help Sam soon.” Francis checked his clock. Very soon, in fact.

  “I can help?” Brie offered.

  “Sure. Okay.”

  They headed up the corridor.

  “Aren’t you working?” Francis asked.

  “We had last night off. Miss Celeste wants us all ready and on alert when we arrive today.”

  Francis nodded. “Makes sense.”

  For Brie’s premature awakening, Francis was early to the cafeteria. Sam had only half-finished the list of ingredients in his usual child-like handwriting, strange Ns and all.

  List completed and in hand, Francis and Brie headed to the Harbinger’s pantry.

  “What are we getting?” Brie asked.

  Francis extended the unevenly torn sheet. “Beans, eggs, and mushrooms. Which do you fancy carrying?”

  “Um … I don’t mind, so long as it’s light.” She pulled a watery smile. “I’m not very strong.”

  “Mushrooms, then. And maybe eggs, so long as you won’t trip.”

  Brie looked shy. “I might …”

  Oh. “Well, just mushrooms then.”

  Francis began sifting through shelves and racks. Brie pushed things around beside him, but she wasn’t as much help as she could have been. Still, never mind. At least she was talking to him now. She could stand idly by the door if she wanted, so long as the guilt in Francis’s stomach was allowed to finally ease off. Only around the edges, but it was a start.

  “So,” Francis said once he’d found mushrooms. “You, ah, wanted to talk?”

  “Um. Yeah.” For good measure: “Yeah.” No more.

  Francis prompted, “About?”

  “I—” Brie took a deep breath. Preparing herself. Francis knew that feeling. In a rush she said, “I want to know how I can make you like me.” Even before the sentence ended, colour had risen to the tops of her cheeks, tinting her face cherry pink.

  “What?”

  “I—I want to know how. To make you like me.”

  Francis stared, search forgotten. This again?

  “Brie, we’ve been through this,” he said. “I don’t … I won’t …”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. You’re asking me a question I can’t answer just like that. Why doesn’t anyone like anyone else?” Francis shrugged lamely. “I just … It’s not going to happen. I’m sorry, but I don’t …” He huffed a sigh and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I don’t even know why you like me in the first place.”

  “Be-because you’re nice,” Brie started. Her voice was higher now, and Francis had a terrifying feeling she might cry. “Or, mostly you are. And—and you’re caring, and look out for people. M-mostly. And … and brave.”

  “I’m not brave.”

  “You saved Miss Celeste!” Brie cried.

  “I …” Francis trailed off. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Is it because I’m not cool? Or I’m not—not daring, like you? When you saved her?”

  “That’s got nothing—I’m not—I didn’t say—”

  “Is it because I’m just a technician?” Higher and higher, her voice rose. The bloom in her face deepened. Her eyes were glazed: she was definitely going to cry. Francis braced himself. “Because I don’t ever do anything like all your friends? Like M-Miss B-Brady, or Mr Khorkov, or … or …” Her words hitched. “Or …” A tremor took her lip and she exploded into tears. The tray of mushrooms she’d been holding fell to the floor and scattered as she gripped her head in her hands.

  Francis hurried across. “Brie—” But before he could reach her, she ran from the room.

  God damn it. It had started out so well.

  Amelie’s going to make me pay for that, he thought sourly. Not that I did anything.

  Sighing, he picked up the mushrooms. Good thing Sam washed them. Then he dug out a vast container of beans, its metal lid orange around the edges with a seal of congealed tomato sauce. Eggs, he’d have to come back for.

  If Sam wondered about Brie’s absence when Francis returned to the cafeteria, he didn’t say—well, grunt—anything. That was one of the things Francis liked about Sam: he minded his own business. Maybe that was because he lacked the mental capacity to really care. Either way, Francis was glad. He didn’t much fancy explaining what had just happened.

  Though he was sure he would have to at some point today. It was just a matter of when.

  2

  Breakfast was spent on alert. Every person that came in, especially the technicians, was a cause for concern. But apart from dirty looks, none of them said anything—anything audible, at least; Francis was sure Amelie muttered something unpleasant as she passed.

  Natasha and Mikhail waved a hello. Vala and Stefan wandered by soon after. Stefan was talking animatedly. From behind, Vala caught Francis’s gaze and rolled her eyes. Francis suppressed his smile by eating a mouthful of beans.

  Ruby came in, Trove at her side. She pointed him to the serving station, then crossed to Francis’s table. His stomach tensed; had news of the morning’s conversation with Brie got back to her?

  “Morning,” she said. She perched on the seat next to him and folded one leg over the other, smoothing her skirt. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” Francis said warily. “You?”

  “Good. Excited.” Ruby beamed. “Almost there. Another couple of hours.” She drummed her hands on the table.

  “Oh. Well, good.”

  “All our technicians are working today; I pulled the night shift off yesterday so we could have all eyes focussed on whatever today might bring.” Francis nodded as if this was new information. Ruby continued, “So the control room will be a little packed. But if you want to come along …”

  “Sure, sounds good,” Francis said in spite of himself. Brie would be there. It could be awkward. But Ruby was excited, and besides, Francis spent so much time with the captain that his absence would be strange.
Anyway, Brie would be professional, he was sure. It wouldn’t be an issue.

  “Good!” Ruby uncrossed and recrossed her legs, and looked about the canteen with a distracted smile. When her eyes fell upon Trove’s back at the serving station, she said, “Oh! I’d better go help. I told him to get breakfast for both of us,” she said. “Forgot about that bloody cast on his arm, though, didn’t I?”

  “Isn’t it ready to come off yet?”

  “Nah. He doesn’t heal as fast as us young folk.” Ruby elbowed Francis good-naturedly in the side. “Anyway, he works too hard. The longer I let Darrel keep the cast on, the more Trove is forced to take it easy. Well, try to at least—Trove, don’t carry both trays! Goodness me, you’ll spatter beans and egg all over Mr Good if you do that.” She hurried away.

  When Ruby came back, Trove being chided as he followed, she held both trays.

  “Just trying to do as instructed, Miss Celeste,” Trove said.

  “I didn’t tell you to carry two trays. Your arm needs to heal.”

  “Merely getting us breakfast, like you said.”

  “Yes, I said to fetch it—as in to have Sam serve it. Logic dictates that you’d then wait for my return so I could bring the trays to the table for us. And carrying that clipboard of yours under one arm as well!”

  Trove countered, “I need that.”

  “I’ve half a mind to throw it overboard next time you’re not looking.”

  Trove lifted an eyebrow at Ruby’s crooked smirk.

  Ruby said to Francis, “Never hire an assistant. At least not such a hard-working one. Counterintuitive, I know.”

  “Have we spotted anything out there yet?” Francis asked. “Where we’re going.”

  “Not really,” said Ruby. “Cloud again.”

  Francis frowned. “The same one?”

  She fixed him with a look. “Cloud doesn’t hang around for the best part of three weeks, Francis. Not at the height of summer.”

  Francis nodded. But it hadn’t been an answer, and both of them knew.

  Still, not long now. The hours were counting down.

  3

  Brie came to breakfast. She was accompanied by Wren, and judging by the filthy look the older woman shot Francis, and the red that coloured Brie’s eyes, she’d barely ceased crying. Neither said a word, though, and they took up a table at the back with Amelie and Sia. A concerned question from Amelie drifted Francis’s way, and he was sure it was asked louder than was necessary.

  Fortunately he’d finished his breakfast by then, so decided to beat an escape. Bidding farewell to Ruby and Trove, who now were bickering over whether Trove should even be allowed to write, Francis hurried from the canteen.

  Without a place to call destination, Francis let his feet carry him about the ship.

  He pushed the thought of Brie from his head, and instead found himself thinking of his parents. What had they been doing lately? He pictured days and evenings in the garden, watching birds congregate on the feeder his father had made. Endless glasses of iced tea. Old music drifting out the window from an ancient phonograph his mother had inherited. The sound wasn’t perfect, but she always said it added to the charm.

  Had they received the dozen or so letters he’d ‘sent’? Pages torn carefully from his diary, folded tight and dropped, sporting the address that had once been his. Had they been picked up? Francis imagined someone walking along a dirt trail between fields; a farmer, maybe. There, amidst a tangle of weeds sprouting at the path’s edge, would be a triangle of white. He’d frown, pick it up. Maybe even read it. And then …

  Would he send it?

  Francis sighed. He might never know.

  His feet took him to one of the Harbinger’s two Volum rooms. Wires crisscrossed the walls. In the room’s centre was a globular, leathery creature. Its eyes had been closed in contentment, but when Francis stepped in they flicked open. The blue light it emitted pulsed in a luminescent rendition of exclamation: “Oh!” It smiled stupidly.

  “Hey,” Francis muttered. He patted the creature’s side. Benjamin Thoroughgood had never permitted him to get this close. “Want something to eat?”

  A sack of pellets was slung by the door, sealed with a tight drawstring. Francis drew it open and took three of the very heavy, black pellets that the Volum so loved.

  “Here we go.”

  The Volum chewed happily. When it swallowed, a sparkle of diamond light glittered, before fading.

  This thing had it so easy. Life was simple. And it was always happy. The only time Francis had ever seen an unhappy Volum was when the Pantheon fell into the grip of a devastating infection. Otherwise, they were just as stupidly cheerful every hour of the day. Eating: happy. Sleeping: happy. Awake? Happy.

  Brie re-entered Francis’s head; her tears. A low feeling throbbed in the pit of his stomach.

  Why did he have to feel guilty?

  He sighed and eyed the Volum.

  Soft light pulsed in cadence with its breaths. Beady, thoughtless eyes affixed on Francis. No curiosity. No wonder. No cognitive activity at all. It simply watched, and smiled.

  4

  “Deploy drone. Cameras on main display, please.”

  The control room was full. All six stations were helmed, and the space between was occupied by another four of the Harbinger’s seventeen-strong crew: Ruby Celeste, Trove Wellbeing, Natasha Brady, and Francis Paige. As was his usual fare, Francis hovered near the door with Trove. Ruby had taken up space behind Amelie and Sia, at the fore workstations, while Natasha was behind, ready to give navigational commands.

  Amelie said, “Drone dispatched.”

  Sia: “Feeds online.”

  Francis watched. He had little choice but to; Brie had retained her professionalism, but she kept looking his way. Perhaps if he remained rapt at the room’s main display, she might eventually give in and focus on the task at hand.

  Blue skies bloomed on screen. Below, still distant, was a billow of cloud.

  “Should I conduct a sweep?” Sia asked.

  “Area seems visually clear,” Wren said.

  “It did before, too,” Natasha muttered.

  Ruby said, “Miss Beckers is right. No need for a sweep, Amelie. Direct the drone to the cloud.”

  The puff grew. Ruby waited in silence, hands folded behind her back.

  Amelie called out the shrinking distance as the drone drew closer. It was fast, though not as quick as it had been on its test flight; the jacked speed had caused its electrical fault. Still, though it powered forward with greater speed than the Harbinger could muster, the anticipatory tension in the room made it drag.

  Closer, closer …

  Ruby stepped forward. “What the …?”

  On screen, the enormous mass of cloud floated by under the drone. But it wasn’t just cloud: a lumpy tendril shifted, and beneath glinted—was that metal?

  Too late. The drone was already past.

  “Amelie, swing it over again. The rest of you, cull stills from the feed. Main display.”

  Noises of affirmation sounded.

  Francis watched.

  A series of stills cycled through the main display, replacing the drone’s camera feeds. Amidst puffs of white was the sheen of silvery metal. Some areas were uniform, but others jutted with machinery. In one place, a thick cylindrical tower reared up. Apertures lined its trunk, puffing out a steady stream of wispy white.

  “Is that—” Francis looked to Trove, alarmed, and then Ruby. “Is that thing making the cloud cover?”

  “Second sweep commencing,” Amelie said.

  Ruby: “Main display, please.”

  Again, the drone soared. This time the Harbinger was visible in the background; a long, angular speck of dark metal. But Francis barely paid it any attention; his eyes swept the billowing cotton roils, desperately searching for holes.

  He didn’t have to look hard; machinery reached upward through the wounds, visible for just an instant before being snatched away as the drone passed.

&n
bsp; The drone’s second journey complete, Amelie said, “Another sweep, Miss Celeste?”

  “No. Return the drone to the ship; I want us brought in for a closer look.”

  Natasha spluttered. “You said we wouldn’t re-enter the airspace unless we knew for sure it was clear.”

  “Did you see a kraken?”

  “Did we see one before?”

  “I told you. It got struck by lightning. I saw it. The thing is dead.”

  Natasha folded her arms. “If it’s not …”

  “It’s dead. I saw it.” At Natasha’s look, Ruby repeated, “I saw it. Now, Miss Brady, I’d like us brought in closer.”

  “Fine. Wren, Brie, take us in.”

  Two voices: “Aye.”

  Ruby said, “Thank you, Natasha.”

  The ship began to move.

  The air drew tight. Francis glanced between Natasha and Ruby. The navigation leader had a dark look on her face. Ruby ignored it, busying herself with stills yanked from the drone’s feed.

  “Drone has rejoined ship,” Amelie said.

  “Thank you, Miss Telford.”

  The room was quiet. Instructions moved back and forth, but no conversation.

  Images cycled on screen. There was that trunk-like metal protrusion. There had been another, too, caught at the very fringes of the drone’s vision in a later image. Both were pocked with openings like the end of a cannon.

  “Approaching edge of radar capabilities,” Amelie announced. Ten minutes had passed; ten long, drawn minutes. They were now more or less directly overhead this huge, sweeping mass of white.

  “Begin pulsing,” Ruby instructed.

  “Last time we used radar, something pinged us,” Natasha said. “And whatever that thing is, it sent us a kraken to deal with.”

  “A kraken which is now dead,” Ruby countered.

  Natasha threw up her arms. “There’s no such thing as krakens! They’re a myth!”

  “Evidently not.”

  “Fine. But how do you know it’s dead? You saw it get hit by lightning; what if the damned thing survived?”

  “It took a lightning bolt to the face.” Ruby crossed her arms. “Miss Brady, I appreciate your concern. I do. But the thing is gone. We’re safe.”