A Fistful of Dust (6 page)

“Yet you blessed the union.”

“I had not the heart to separate them. Not sure if I would have succeeded if I truly tried. Stone…Nathaniel…” Highmore took two steps, stopped. “I was afraid your scientific interest would get the better of you, but Elizabeth insists on seeing this edifice of which Henry writes. Just as she insisted in joining me on this excursion, she intends to see that which, if the worst has happened, may be the true reason that her beloved has lost his life. There is simply no talking her out of it. As I am sure there would be no talking to you. I’ve tried to tell her Phobos is no place for a girl, but she quite threatened that if I interfered she would get Miss Somerset on her side.”

“And all it would take would be for Miss Somerset to hear that we men were against Miss Highmore doing as she saw fit and we would never hear the end of it.”

They stared at one another and, for the first time since they had met, exchanged the most honest of looks. They were men with much the same problem—a headstrong female, although neither man would want the women in question to be different. The way Joseph smiled back; it seemed he was of a similar mind.

“The world is changing, Nathaniel. One day women will be our equals, or even surpass us. I have long accepted they are not the weak things society would have us believe.”

“That’s quite forward thinking.”

“You mean for me? Perhaps I am not the man you imagined me to be.”

Bestowing a small smile, Nathaniel said; “We shall see.”

“Maybe we shall; unfortunately, I fear there may be cause to. Do you believe in premonitions?” Nathaniel shook his head. “Neither did I.” His emphasis was past tense.

Giving Nathaniel a casual salute, Joseph turned to leave, pausing at the threshold. “I’m not a fool, Nathaniel. I am well aware that Folkard and the rest of you have your own reasons for being here. I simply ask you do not allow the expedition to be sidetracked. The retrieval of Henry and his man is paramount. After, then you can both explore to your heart’s content. If necessary, I will aid your own exploration in any way I can…if it benefits Henry, either as investigation or payment in kind. I only ask that Henry’s life comes above all else.”

“I am not the captain of this vessel, Joseph. But, short of weighing up the lives of many for the one, I will do everything I can to rescue Henry if he is still alive.”

As Highmore left he was aware of Nathaniel bending his head and beginning to read.

I
have chanced upon an American claiming to be part of an expedition already undergoing a reconnaissance of Phobos for the purpose of technological and empirical investigation. Franklin Miller also mentions their lack of funding. Elizabeth, I am no fool to think that this man believes I can in anyway truly help them. I am quite sure that he sees me as a bottomless pocket, but I am eager to join this team as a means to reach my destination. The idea of nations coming together in joint exploration is a marvellous thing and I would gladly help finance it. Not to the point where it would damage our future happiness, but to aid them enough until they can find additional benefactors. I do not believe Miller a scientist, for he cannot answer the simplest detail of Phobos, or even of Mars. He tries to flub his answers and inevitably gets them wrong even while sounding as if he is the very font of knowledge. It is entirely too funny, dear Elizabeth, and you would be most amused. He’s not even much of a swaddy, as Whitlock would say, and in the British Army certainly wouldn’t even attain the rank of a common soldier. I have asked around and am quite certain he has been a trader on Mars for some time, is gathering supplies and heading out to the Astusapes Highlands to a contact he has there for liftwood. His flyer took some damage and he means to effect repairs before returning to Phobos. He has even been known to deal with High Martians, a type of beast I will not waste time discussing.

My point, Elizabeth, this man is a hired help and nothing more. Perhaps he needs to feel important or believes I will not attend him if he has no scientific knowledge. Carstairs distrusts him, but then he distrusts everyone on my behalf. But some knowledge Miller let slip piqued my already abundant interest.

There is indeed a monolith on Phobos!

Oh Elizabeth, can you even begin to fathom what this could mean? I had heard tell of this strange shape as seen from afar, but all dismiss it as a trick of the light, or damage caused by a meteorite strike, perhaps an interplanetary fragment. Miller probably noticed the mere mention of this was the one thing to insure my help for I must confess, I was unable to contain my enthusiasm. He describes a shape with three sides, two leading to a point, the third side curved. Entirely too uniformed to be natural!

3.

“I CAN TELL
you what it isn’t,” Arnaud said in response to Nathaniel’s question. “It is not Silicon Dioxide.”

“Citrine,” Nathaniel translated.

Arnaud smiled.

Folkard having as good as taken the wind from his sails, Nathaniel felt more than deflated. He’d tried to interest the captain in the monolith, to convince him a visit to see it was imperative. What he’d received was a terse, “Not now,” and an explanation concerning Phobos’ short orbital rotation, and the threat of aether vortexes in this location. In other words, Folkard’s undivided attention was needed elsewhere. Nathaniel had dropped in on Arnaud in the laboratory on the way back to the engine room to see if he’d made progress…and because Arnaud’s company lightened his spirits. As Arnaud was standing, Nathaniel sank down into the chair beside him.

“Iron gives citrine the golden colour and extreme heat, naturally occurring or otherwise, gives it the deep burnt golden hue. Pale citrine means no heat. Pity.” Nathaniel frowned at him. “Citrine is said to be a stone that disperses negative energy. I would say we could do with that for there is decidedly too much energy of the wrong sort aboard. Also many believe it attracts…” Arnaud seemed to struggle over choosing an appropriate word. “Bounty or plenty. Some merchants carry citrine for good luck, profit. Something else we could use just now and it would fit with the idea of some
imbécile
searching for treasure.”

“Treasure to one man is worthless to another.”

“
Exactement
.”

“So what else is it not?”

Arnaud spread his hands. “You ask the impossible. I require better facilities. Even to do a hardness test… This sample is hard and does not break. Even if I could test the pressure point, I would have to attempt to crush the whole thing, as I cannot get the right size sample. I have managed a couple of slivers only and then because they are flaking off, not because I broke them loose.

“I’ve tested for the presence of gold as it does seem to…glitter in its depths, but I thought that was in error before I started. Only fool’s gold flakes. Still, I put a drop of muriatic acid on the stone.”

“And?”

“Nothing happened. This would usually indicate gold… ” Arnaud made a dismissive gesture.

“You’re convinced it’s not. And not diamond?”

“
Non
. I have managed the scratch test. This is, in places…I would say harder than diamond. In others, where flaking, not hard at all. I’m performing a calcium carbonate test on one of the flakes. A simple basic level test, but ideally it should sit for several hours or overnight. I keep checking, but no bubbles.”

The word “bubbles” spoken with Arnaud’s accent made Nathaniel laugh. Arnaud frowned at him, which made him laugh harder. He rolled back in the chair, giving way to what felt very close to hysteria. The idea that he might not be able to control the wild laughter that threatened was the very thing to chase it back. By the time he managed to recover, Arnaud was on his knees beside him, looking at him with an expression that threatened to set him off again. “Forgive me. I’ve not too long ago shared a very strange conversation with Joseph Highmore and it gave me much to consider. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

“Tell me in a moment. Before you do, I have something equally important to tell you.”

“Such as?”

“You are quite damp and have dirt on your cheek.” Arnaud reached out to brush it off. “Now I have made it worse. And there is dirt here…and here.” He punctuated the words with the lightest touch.

Then, for a while, there was silence.

Chapter Five

“In Which False Evidence Appears Real”

1.

AS NATHANIEL MOVED
to put on his helmet, Arnaud waylaid him. It looked as if the geologist would speak; however, he first cast a glance at Highmore who had said he would wait for his sister’s return by the airlock, and happened to be standing close.

“Get me a sample of the surface.” Arnaud handed Nathaniel the means to collect some soil.

Nathaniel turned away, setting his mind to the task of getting his helmet in place. Arnaud checked it for him. When he looked at the geologist, an inner light seemed to shine out from the other man’s eyes, one he could not interpret before Arnaud turned and hurried off.

Feeling what he could only describe as chilled, Nathaniel forced himself into action. He wasn’t at all sure how Arnaud would fit into his life, but he did not like the sudden and unreasonable thought that they might not see each other again. Perhaps Phobos truly did inspire anxiety.

Holding to that thought, he entered the airlock, braced for the flow of cold air as he broke the seal on his oxygen tank, and then looked to Phobos as the outer door opened. There being no true up or down out here, it was best to stare at the surface as much as possible and not look to the stars. Linked by cables the five, consisting of Annabelle, Elizabeth, Whitlock, Nathaniel and Burton, were able to keep in contact.

“I think I may be ill.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded strained.

“You’re doing well, Miss Elizabeth,” Whitlock said. “Have to say this fair turns my stomach, too, so no shame in feeling a little queasy.”

The moment the corporal said it, Nathaniel heard the sound of the others gagging inside their helmets.

2.

FOLKARD HAD HIS
eyes closed. He was aware of this, aware that if anyone were looking at him they would see that and worse. They would see his brow as furrowed as Phobos, maybe dewed with sweat. He gritted his teeth so hard he was sure he heard his jaw creak. Fortunately, the landing party had disembarked without needing assistance from him, leaving his mind free to… What? To the influence jumbling his thoughts? He shouldn’t feel disposed to that.

Something called to him. The sensation felt similar to the Heart, but worse. Stronger. More insistent. He took no effort at all to recall how it first felt on Luna to be called by the Heart, to feel alternately pleasantly befuddled and even soothed, and then pained when he had resisted. He’d likened it to how he imagined addiction, and this was in some ways like that and in others…not. It was more like toothache.

The moment the idea popped into his brain, he clung to it. He imagined a nerve set deep in his jaw, slowly rotting, sending out signals. The difference between that and what he was feeling was a bad tooth would cause so much pain it would require pulling before it grew excruciating. It would infect the tooth next to it, and the one after and the one after that. He felt something more insidious, almost gentle in its complexity, slowly spreading. One nerve alive nudging the one next to it until that sprang to life, and sent a jolt of acknowledgement in the nerve next to that. That might not have been so bad if confined to his jaw, but it would grow worse before it got better if it ever did. Already the sensation made it difficult to think. As the jangling of his nerves increased, it had grown unpleasant enough for him to resent it. Apprehension spiced the resentment.

The thing to do would be to tell someone, but he dreaded that, too. Almost as much as he grew anxious over the increasing discomfort. Besides, how to explain this sensation to anyone? This wasn’t the pain of illness, or disease. It wasn’t something the skill of a surgeon could eradicate. How could he explain the utter devastation of knowing there was something within eating away, gnawing, yet no one could stop it? The source was external, out
there
, and he could not cut it out of his body even if he dug deep. It would strip his mind before he could sever it from his flesh.

For the first time on this voyage, Folkard began to worry he might actually do something stupid.

He hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked to be some magical divining rod. How freeing it would be to cast off the mantel of authority. Then there was his belief that Heaven awaited him. His beloved wife, Charlotte. His dear daughter, Felicity. Since his brief visit with them, he sometimes felt as if he were only half here. Part of him wanted to return to the people he loved. Maybe it would be best to let the others take over. How freeing…and traitorous.

Folkard was no traitor.

The thought sobered him; he opened his eyes, immediately aware that Arnaud stood watching. He swallowed, straightened, took a ’kerchief from a pocket, dabbed his brow. “I’m all right, Doctor Fontaine.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Considering whether to argue, Folkard took a moment, nodded. At least Fontaine had the decency to be discrete. “I have already given the command to put the safety of the ground crew first despite any orders to the contrary. If you do not believe me, ask Carter. This flyer will only move should survival of the ship require it.”

“Did the officer not find such orders strange?”

“It does not matter how he found them, only that he obey.”

Arnaud nodded. “And in the interest of the ship and its crew may one enquire how its captain is feeling?”

Brushing one hand against the next, Folkard was surprised to discover he was smiling. “As if…ants are crawling all over my skin. Something calls to me…Arnaud, but I’ve never felt anything this erratic. I cannot fathom it.”