Table of Contents

Copyright

“A FISTFUL OF DUST”

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Space: 1889 & Beyond—A Fistful of Dust

By Sharon Bidwell

Copyright 2013 by Sharon Bidwell

Space: 1889 © & ™ Frank Chadwick 1988, 2013

Cover Design & Art © Tom Webster and

Untreed Reads Publishing, 2013

Space: 1889 & Beyond developed by Andy Frankham-Allen

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Other Titles in the Space: 1889 & Beyond Series

Journey to the Heart of Luna

Vandals on Venus

The Ghosts of Mercury

A Prince of Mars

Abattoir in the Aether

Dark Side of Luna

Conspiracy of Silence

Mundus Cerialis

Leviathans in the Clouds

The Forever Journey

Horizons of Deceit

http://www.untreedreads.com

“A FISTFUL OF DUST”

By Sharon Bidwell

Prologue

“Phobos, Fearful Son of Mars”

1.

LIGHT AND SHADOW could easily trick the eye. Every painter understood that and while Henry Barnsdale-Stevens was not an artist, the manipulation of form by sketching on a flat surface to create a three-dimensional image had always intrigued him. Just as other worlds intrigued him.

Alone at times with nothing more than a stick of charcoal, some reams of paper and his imagination, Henry had often tried to depict what he imagined the planets in the aether looked like from an age when others considered him far too young to travel any distance on Earth, let alone to the stars.

Now he stood on the dusty surface of the oft-disregarded Phobos, staring at something that not only inspired his creativity, but also left him with numerous questions making him feel many years younger than his seven and twenty.

“Is this what you envisioned, sir?”

The voice of Carstairs, his valet, crackled through the connection in the helmet of his atmosphere suit, a painful reminder of inferior quality. The expression on Carstairs’ face had been a reflection of Henry’s own inner doubts when donning the costume, but he’d come too far to back out. Fortunately, despite his dread of feeble gravity he’d not floated off into the dark-depths of space. Henry wasn’t at all sure he could have resisted the pull of his curiosity had he known such a thing would occur in certainty. Although God forgive him if misfortune befell and he left his darling Elizabeth effectively a widow at heart before they’d even wed.

The monolith was not as Henry’s professor back at Oxford believed an ill-formed “bit of rock” either indigenous, exposed by a passing meteor storm, or the foreign remains of said meteorite. Neither was the object as other learned gentlemen surmised triangular, almost pyramidal. It was not a boulder or a cliff. Not a building, nor a remnant or fall-out of the Stickney crater impact. Henry didn’t know what it was except mysterious and marvellous.

The standing stone’s shape was too uniformed to be natural and the markings on the surface undoubtedly some type of language, though one he could never hope to read. No matter, when the roughly hued depictions were enough to set his passions flowing, his mind expanding with new concepts and ideas of possibilities not present to his senses.

Drawings. There were words and drawings on this stone.

“Sir!” Carstairs’ cry broke into his imaginings. Quite honestly, the man was becoming a pain. The ooft preceding the hiss and clack before communication cut-off made him wish his servant hadn’t come, but the chap had insisted as much as his position allowed. Having attended Henry’s family enough years for there to be an “understanding” of such liberties between them, how did one refuse? Experience had taught Henry to deal with whatever ailed the other man first. Then he could concentrate his energy to gathering as much information as possible before his air ran out.

“Yes, Carstairs, what is?”

Pain stole his words and his ability to complete the turn. Knees buckling, Henry Barnsdale-Stevens was unable even to reflect on the fate of his companion. The sight of the Phobos monolith became once more all-consuming. Henry’s last thought was to wonder whether his helmet would prove strong enough to cope with even a slight collision against the monolith he’d always wanted to see since the first moment he had heard of its existence.

Chapter One

“In Which the Crew Encounter Major Trouble”

1.

THE CHINK OF a silver spoon against china rang out, sounding as sweet as birdsong. Nathaniel pushed the murmur of voices to the aft of his mind, paying them no more attention than he would a bee buzzing; a pleasant backdrop to a summer’s day. Lost to the tang of tannin on his tongue, he sat gazing out from the window of the governor-general’s office of the British colony.

A pleasure to meet Sir Henry Routledge, though the man’s presence was not as pleasurable as the tea, a commodity in which they were in short supply on board Esmeralda 2, and not even the tea was as delightful as being off the ship, and out of the engine room. Although Nathaniel had taken to working as the ship’s engineer more readily than he’d anticipated, the physical reality of his surroundings and the partaking of tea with friends took him back to much simpler times. Happier. This feeling of well-being was amplified by the sensation of gravity (even the lower gravity of Mars), and a warm wind. He’d lost count the amount of times since they’d arrived that he had closed his eyes and breathed in with gratitude whenever the wind blew.

The almost colonial atmosphere of Syrtis Major made him feel part of the British Empire, safe. No matter how illusory, the feeling was hard to shake. He’d grown up believing in Queen and Country, and God. How swiftly so much had changed.

Every man and woman experienced turning points. Was Nathaniel’s when Edwin died? When his wrist became damaged? When he’d been arrested? When Annabelle had lost a leg?

Annabelle had the spirit to survive such an ordeal, to make the best of a bad situation, and overcome the impairment, but she saw it as just that and it was difficult to argue when she wasn’t altogether wrong. No one chose to lose a limb, even if one had the strength to surpass the loss. Mars had to bring…certain memories to the fore.

Despite the loose line of Annabelle’s shoulders as she stood admiring the view, he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking. True, even such vistas as those afforded from Sir Henry Routledge’s office were agreeable as opposed to the blackness of space, so perhaps, for now, her mind could dwell on other things other than recollections made understandably worse by a return to Mars, but he doubted it.

Nathaniel almost expected the flavour of the tea to turn bitter as his thoughts, but it did not, remaining flavoursome, almost mockingly refreshing.

He became aware of Sir Henry clearing his throat as appeared to be his wont…especially when about to mention something impolitic.

“There is…um…something I very much want to discuss. Your being here is somewhat timely. I’ve a task to ask of you.”

Nathaniel almost turned his head to say, “Of course, anything you need,” when he realised in all likelihood, Sir Henry addressed Folkard.

Nathaniel’s initial view of Sir Henry was that he was blustering, something of a caricature of the type of consummate leadership one expected to find in the Royal Navy. However, even after so short a time, Nathaniel now saw him as more than competent, proficient and effective in his duties. Whether that was a good thing lay open to debate anywhere but in the man’s office, under his observation. Just as well he’d not offered their service so readily; there was something about Sir Henry that Nathaniel found…not untrustworthy exactly, but best suited caution. Nathaniel concentrated on the decorum of cup and saucer instead.

“It’s a lengthy story, but in short I need you to take a couple of passengers to Phobos.”

Caught in the act of drinking, Nathaniel all but coughed out his tea, had to perform a quick juggling act losing all propriety, as he tried to avoid spilling or spitting out the liquid. A napkin appeared under his nose. A hand to his mouth, little droplets adhering to his palm and his lips, he angled his gaze up at Annabelle, before snatching the napkin to wipe his mouth clean in an attempt to minimise the embarrassment.

“Perhaps drink more slowly,” Annabelle suggested. A pause ensued in which he was sure everyone in the room was staring. Trust Annabelle to make a remark when she could have simply let his misfortune slide.

“Does one require…how would you say, a clobber on the back?”

Arnaud’s French accent drew out the word clobber so that it purred. If the comment hadn’t compounded the awkward moment, Nathaniel might have asked for just that. Or possibly a soothing rub. Shaking off the thought, he shook his head.

“Was it something I said, Professor?”

He’d hoped Routledge wouldn’t comment, and he didn’t sound happy. To Nathaniel’s surprise, Annabelle covered for him.

“Not at all. I’m afraid we have almost run out of tea, Sir Henry. Professor Stone’s enthusiasm causing him to drink too fast is understandable.”

Routledge knew Folkard so the business of their secret identities was somewhat negated in his presence.

“Really? That will never do.”

“It is on our inventory for re-supply,” Folkard said, his tone so deadpan Nathaniel could neither tell whether he was disinterested or amused.

“And we shall see that you get it!” Routledge declared as if announcing war on the loss of leaf infusions. “And we’ll make sure you have some of the decent stuff. Can’t have you out there in the aether without…”

Routledge’s voice disassembled into a sound like someone talking with a mouth full of spun cotton. Tuning him out and uncertain whether to feel grateful for Annabelle’s intervention or annoyed, Nathaniel gave a noncommittal nod, gaze latching on to Annabelle’s as she regarded him. Once, he would have counted on her mirth; now, she looked tired. They were all tired, physically to be sure, but emotionally as well. None were the same as when first they had met. He’d like to say their evolution was complete, but their journey into the unknown had only just begun.

“Now my task…my um…favour…”

No matter how he felt towards Routledge, they didn’t need further complications. To be doing favours at every port of call… It lay on the tip of his tongue to remind Sir Henry they were on a mission, when Folkard beat him to it.

“I appreciate that, old boy, and I wouldn’t usually ask, but a member of the realm has found himself in a spot of bother.”

“Really, Sir Henry?” Annabelle sat down.

“Nothing to trouble your head with, my dear.”

“Then I am surprised any of us should trouble our heads at all.”

There existed a moment where Routledge made several peculiar noises that made Nathaniel think maybe his tea had gone down the wrong way. Just short of huffing, Routledge continued. “It would seem a man has gone missing and as far as our intelligence can ascertain he was last seen hiring a transport to Phobos.”

“Phobos?” Annabelle’s voice rang out. “You mean the moon? Why would anyone want to go there?”

“One might have once said the same of Luna,” Folkard murmured, which caused Annabelle to look down. Her lips compressed. Folkard had missed that her words were intended to incite Routledge, and not to dismiss the possibility that they should help.

“He has not been heard from since?”

“No, Captain Folkard.”

“Then whatever his reasons for going there, I suggest that one must consider the worse has happened.”

“Indeed,” Nathaniel concurred. “Especially as the chances of him actually finding some way to land are unlikely.”

“Quite so, quite so, but one must look to all possibilities. Either the man must be found alive and well, or we need to locate his corpse. Um…I mean…forgive me, my dear Miss Somerset.” Sir Henry spared her a nod before speaking again to Folkard. “We need to locate the unfortunate soul and lay him to rest.”

“We must?” Nathaniel posed.

Clearing his throat, Sir Henry seemed at a loss.

“Forgive us.” Folkard’s tone softened, maybe as a way to lessen Nathaniel’s interruption and placate the man. “We are all exhausted and as I have pointed out, we already have a task to resolve. Obviously, there must be more to this disappearance or I am sure you would not waste our time.”

“I would not waste your time at all. A man has gone missing. A fine young fellow. I knew his father back at…” Sir Henry coughed, possibly realising that personal connections were by no means the best way to convince an enervated crew. “This is a matter of loyalty. We are in Her Majesty’s service. A member of aristocracy has gone missing and others are seeking our help!”

“That’s as may be, Sir Henry, but we are also under the charge of the empire.” Folkard broke off so abruptly, he drew all gazes in the room. A frown crossed his face. He turned his head, swayed.

“I say, old chap,” Routledge began, and Nathaniel was about to ask whether Folkard felt unwell when the man straightened and strode to the window.

Gazing up into the sky for some moments, he said, “Phobos, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more.”

“The man in question is one Henry Barnsdale-Stevens.”

The way Sir Henry spoke made Nathaniel wonder whether the name was a matter of coincidence, or someone had called the missing chap after the governor at birth. That would explain Sir Henry’s immoderate interest.

“He…stopped by to see me and I learned of his intention to investigate Phobos. Indeed,” Sir Henry cleared his throat again, “he sought my advice and help, but I…I refused.” A hint of shame and sadness crept into the governor’s voice. “I told him I’m of a mind to agree with those who liken Phobos to a diseased potato. He would not listen. Said that he had to check it out on behalf of his soon-to-be brother-in-law. That he’d promised, and family being family and all that… Well, I-I understood, but I couldn’t just give him a flyer and service men to go off on some wild… Er…that is…um…”

“The wild goose is cooked,” Arnaud remarked, speaking quietly, but it was a miracle if Routledge didn’t hear.

“I thought his insistence was bravado or an act of persuasion. I should have realised. An adventurous spirit has our Henry. Had I fathomed his intention I would have detained him for his own good.”

“Why did he need to check out Phobos for his brother-in-law or otherwise?” Nathaniel enquired.

“Hmm…some nonsense about a land purchase that I found dubious, but the point is I am responsible. I refused to help, and now this dear fellow has gone missing. I believed that some of these damnable Martians had something to do with it, especially as they harbour certain superstitions regarding the moon, but after investigation, Highmore assures me.”

“Highmore?” This time Nathaniel rudely broke in.

“Y-yes.” It sounded as if Routledge didn’t want to confess that, and well he should.

“I take it he is one of the would-be passengers.”

“You have heard of him?”

Turning his gaze to Folkard rather than look at Routledge’s florid face, Nathaniel nodded. “His family are…well-to-do.”

“Well-to-do, indeed. I should say so, but wealth isn’t everything. It’s breeding that…” Again, Sir Henry stopped. “Forgive me. I am unused to speaking with one of the feminine persuasion in the room. I continue to forget myself.”

“That you do, Sir Henry, not that I will fall apart at a mere breath of coarse language or of a disagreeable subject, I assure you.” Annabelle reached out, rapping her false leg with her knuckles.

If Sir Henry were to grow more rubicund, they might have to resuscitate him. To add to the man’s discomfort, Nathaniel said, “Let us just say The Honourable Joseph Highmore’s reputation does not live up to the title and leave it at that.”

“I am aware that some might not look upon the younger Highmore as the epitome of British aristocracy, but such is the foolishness of youth.” Sir Henry conveniently seemed to forget that Highmore was older than many of those sitting in the room. “Henry’s friend and fiancée are both here to.”

“Fiancée?” Annabelle’s voice rang out bringing Sir Henry to yet another stuttering halt.

“She is…here,” he admitted. “When Highmore went off in pursuit of Henry’s trail I could not allow the young lady to attend, and, fortunately, Highmore agreed. However, I have been less successful in convincing them that she should not accompany this expedition.”

If he meant to suggest a lady should not be gallivanting about the universe, he’d find it a matter of dissension when it came to Annabelle…or so Nathaniel thought.

“The young lady will surely listen to such good counsel as yours.” Annabelle’s very words indicated how strongly she objected to the other woman’s inclusion, but why, Nathaniel could not begin to guess. They had no time for debate, interrupted by a door opening and a swish of skirts.

Thomas, the governor-general’s aide and secretary, appeared on the young lady’s heels. “My apologies, sir.” His flustered tone did not match his expression, making Nathaniel frown.

“Do not apologise for me!” A shrill voice snapped out. The newcomer looked upon them as though assessing rabble, although he could well appreciate her ire if she were the fiancée of the missing man. Her attitude only seemed to falter when she set sight of Annabelle, but she quickly regained her composure. Surely, the arrival of a second outspoken female would cause Routledge to bluster even more.

It did not. If anything, the governor-general seemed to puff up with something similar to… Not pride. More like triumph.

Fools. Sir Henry’s posting had been one intended to make use of his years of military experience, one that made it possible to overlook certain…misdemeanours of manipulation as well as dalliances with the fairer sex. Nathaniel didn’t believe or suspect Routledge guilty of a casual or intimate relationship with this young lady; however, that did not mean Routledge was beyond using her obvious charms to his own advantage in other ways. Routledge was about to make fools of them all.

“I truly do understand your reluctance to help those you do not know, but I implore you.” The young lady wrung her hands. “Will you not help one of Her Majesty’s subjects in the most heartrending pursuit trying to ascertain what has happened to the man she loves?”

In reply, Arnaud studied the floor. Folkard squared his shoulders. Annabelle rolled her eyes. Nathaniel watched the entertainment.

“Forgive me…Miss Highmore, I presume?” Annabelle turned to look at Routledge. “Sir. With respect, I must protest that I do not appreciate being ambushed in this manner.”

Tu tu tu noises erupted from Sir Henry’s throat. Before he could recover, Folkard spoke. “You must appreciate what Miss Somerset is trying to say. I suggest the presence of Miss Highmore appears to be somewhat contrived.” So Nathaniel wasn’t the only one thinking that. “However.”

“Sir! The Realm does not leave a man behind!” Routledge cut in.

“However,” Folkard resumed, “we will help.” If he noticed the others were surprised, he did not show it. “I take it as we are restocking supplies there is time for us to rest up and ascertain the details a little later? Over dinner?”

“To be sure, to be sure.”

“Then, we will retire to freshen ourselves and rest before we dine.” Folkard’s sweeping gaze seemed to indicate it was time for them all to leave the room.

As they stood to follow Folkard’s stride, the lady moved aside and in her movements came face…to chest with Nathaniel. A small gasp left her before her gaze wandered, coming to rest on his face. Maybe his height alarmed her, but whatever caused her to startle brought a most peculiar expression to Annabelle’s mien. At least the encounter provided her with merriment for the first time in weeks.

As to…this lady, her hair appeared to be only slightly paler than her skin and she was waif-like to the point where a single breath might blow her out of existence. That she had followed her missing fiancé spoke of some hidden fortitude, perhaps, but were times changing so much that no woman would remain at home?

As they trouped out, Nathaniel replied to Arnaud’s raised eyebrow. “The goose is not cooked; however, it is wild. The phrase you sought was a wild goose chase, and it seems that we are about to embark on one.”

“Not necessarily so,” Folkard replied, glancing back, a look they had come to recognise coming into his eyes. “Not necessarily so.” He somehow managed to sound simultaneously a little excited, and ill at ease. The captain strode off leaving Annabelle, Nathaniel and Arnaud to blink at his departing back.

Chapter Two

“In Which All Meet the Interlopers”

1.

“MY FATHER HAS always considered black hair on a woman to be rather unseemly. I have to say I cannot agree with him. Although I have never seen a woman with hair as black as yours, until now.”

Taking a deep breath, Annabelle suppressed a sigh. Despite Annabelle speaking very few words to her, Elizabeth Highmore seemed to have latched on as if they were sisters at heart purely from the anatomical fact of being the same sex. They could not have been more unalike.

She could not deny that she had tried to formulate all sorts of reasons why Elizabeth should not join the expedition, all of which failed for she could think of few ways to argue without cutting herself out of the trip as well.

True, the mere slip of a girl had shown some…doughtiness coming all the way from Earth in pursuit of her fiancé, but she seemed to carry the act of doing so as if deserving of martyrdom. To make the situation more unpleasant, she came out with such asinine remarks Annabelle struggled to determine whether the girl was a simpleton or simply pretended to be so that she could enjoy making veiled insults. “I believe there is some parlance in certain circles that blondes are dumb,” Annabelle quipped to test either theory.

Elizabeth coloured. “I…meant a compliment. I apologise. I haven’t…travelled before, and I am unaccustomed to making new acquaintances.”

“Well, you are certainly travelling now.”

Annabelle had no wish to be lumbered with caring for a weak woman…or stand by watching the men dote on her. One of those sentiments, she understood; the other she did not. She had no need for any man other than her George to dote on her, so she had no reason to care if others positively lavished affection on Elizabeth. Not that there seemed to be much chance of that. Folkard was too professional to do so, and had only a mind for his dear Charlotte, and as for Nathaniel and Arnaud…no need to worry there. No, if Elizabeth garnered any tenderness it would have to be from her brother when he arrived.

Inwardly, Annabelle sighed. Since her heavenly encounter, be it reality or a dream, she had begun to relish the new found tranquillity, the inner serenity to accept all that had come to pass. Her arrival on Mars had tilted the balance, upset her equilibrium. A situation made worse since her acquaintance with Elizabeth especially owing to the cramped conditions meaning she would have to bunk with her.

Annabelle felt…less whole. Almost as if this younger, slighter, sillier woman was in some ways better by the mere fact of having two legs, which made Annabelle the idiotic one. It wasn’t as if Elizabeth was the first woman she’d spent time with since the loss of her appendage, yet, this was Mars…where the first sight of a canal had caused memories to come flooding back brightly coloured and alive with pain. Still, there had been many good things to take account of during her first visit. A feeling of fellowship and acts of loyalty. She had endured. Nathaniel should feel some pride in that, and it stood to reason a little pride in her survival held sway. What was pain when weighed against the prospect of heaven? The thought eased her strange agitation

“I heard tell you lost a friend here.”

For a moment, Annabelle thought Elizabeth referred to her severed leg. A limb was an “old friend” was it not? “Yes. Kak’hamish is sorely missed.”

“Your friend was a Martian?”

“Most assuredly. I do hope that you and your brother are not the type to judge others by the detail of their birth in deference to whom they are at heart as displayed by their actions. If it were not for Kak’hamish, I would be dead. Nathaniel, too, in all probability. I owe that Martian a great debt and only wish I could…” She hesitated, aware her words were going to sound blasphemous, but enjoying the prospect of shocking Elizabeth, she said them anyway. “Resurrect the dead.”

“I do believe you attempt to alarm me.” Elizabeth raised her head defiantly. “I will not be quelled.”

“Pity then that you were quelled in front of Sir Henry. All we requested was intelligence pertinent to this journey.”

“And my brother shall answer your questions, I am sure.” Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of her. “Can we not begin again? When I heard another woman would be present I had hoped to find a companion with a like-minded heart.”

“Perhaps if you cease that wretched hand-wringing we will be more like-minded.”

Undeterred or covering it well, Elizabeth continued. “I admit I have never understood the desire for adventuring until now. It quite fires the blood.”

“You wish an adventure? While your fiancé is missing?” It was difficult to tell what laced her voice with more venom, sarcasm or incredulity.

“My Henry is an adventurer at heart and I hope this trip will help me understand him.”

Annabelle took a step in what she hoped was an imperious manner. “I would not be marrying a man I did not understand. And have you not heard the phrase to be careful what you wish for?”

Turning, Annabelle left Elizabeth where she stood. She was not heartless and on some level wanted to offer comfort, but really, the woman had crossed space to the Red Planet and acted as if they were out on a picnic. Experience had taught Annabelle that to be in the aether was no Sunday afternoon outing. The girl showed spirit but that would only help her so far. She had better learn quickly. For her own sake.

2.

ARNAUD PRACTICED THE British stiff-upper lip. He was not agitated with the prospect of unexpected adventure, inhospitable landscapes, or impossible creatures, but of entertaining an interloper.

“One more hand to the plough,” Annabelle had said, though with some sarcasm. Then, more subdued, “You concern yourself too greatly with inconsequence.”

She had sounded troubled, but he’d been too preoccupied with her phrasing to consider her feelings. Being bullied wasn’t of little consequence in Arnaud’s book. Pulling strings just… Well, it wasn’t done in polite circles…or so he could imagine Nathaniel saying, although after voicing his initial doubts, Nathaniel had remained silent on the subject. Lately, life contained too many shades of grey. Arnaud could forgive Sir Henry for a controversial act of kindness. Nevertheless, they were all as unhappy with this arrangement as he was, with the possible exception of Folkard.

The man still hadn’t fully explained his sudden insistence that they visit Phobos, although he didn’t entirely need to. He clearly linked the orbit of Phobos with some fluctuation in his sensing of the minerals, and besides had they not headed towards Mars at the urging of the Heart? Had not Nathaniel suggested to Folkard at the time that perhaps their destination may have been Phobos, and not Mars as would seem the obvious option? When one was not privilege to the feeling, it was difficult to question the man who had become nothing short of their divining rod. More worrisome than that, Arnaud wagered, something troubled Folkard to a greater extent than usual, although being plagued with intermittent signals should be enough to explain anyone’s tight-lipped silence. Still, if Folkard felt unwell or distressed they needed to know.

“You may wait within, Doctor. There’s no need for us all to be pacing the gangway.”

Folkard’s dismissal annoyed him, but not much. Arnaud cleared his throat. “I would not be so ungallant as not to attend.”

“For sure.” The unexpected sound of Annabelle’s voice to his right almost made him jump, her remark striking him as a jibe. Steeling his resolve, Arnaud took a breath. Emotions fluctuating, he allowed a questionable sentiment to stir within. Although Annabelle’s outspoken ways often frustrated Nathaniel, Arnaud could not recall personally feeling this annoyed with her. What was wrong with him?

“My brother is overdue?”

Elizabeth Highmore was so slight she moved into the gap separating Arnaud and Annabelle with ease.

“That he is, Miss Highmore,” Folkard replied after giving her an assessing and sympathetic glance as they all moved into the common room.

“The…Highlands? They are…dangerous?”

“Astusapes Highlands. A series of abrupt mesas, what the Martians call kraags, usually inhabited by High Martians.” Arnaud supplied a simplified explanation.

“What are High Martians?”

“Think apes,” Folkard injected. “With grasping hands and feet.”

“Oh! They sound intelligent and important.”

“With wings. The title is not one of respect.”

“Wings?” This time she looked up at the ceiling as if she could see right through the ship. “They can fly?”

“That they can, Miss Highmore,” Folkard replied.

“How wonderful! Will we meet one of these beasts?”

“Not if we are fortunate. I fear you would not find them the most pleasant to gaze upon, and their behaviour can be nothing more than barbaric, although they are not beasts in the manner you mean.”

“So they are bad?”

Arnaud caught himself about to shake his head. Had any of them ever been so innocent? To hear Elizabeth talk was almost painful. Sharing a glance with Annabelle, he saw that she had noticed. When Annabelle spoke, she sounded mournful.

“Good. Bad. These things can often be subjective, especially on Mars.”

A frown creased that fair and dainty brow. “I shall have to take your word for it.”

“Indeed.” For an instant, Arnaud believed Annabelle teased the unfortunate girl, but the expression on her face did not match her tone.

Of course, if Highmore did not make it back it would solve some of their problems.

Arnaud felt himself grow pale. If anyone were privy to his thoughts, he dare not consider what they would rightly think of him. What was wrong with him? It was not like him to contemplate harm to another. To do so for the mere misdemeanour of causing an inconvenience was more than criminal. If to err were human, he would atone for such heinous thoughts, be they entirely too human.

3.

“CORPORAL WINSTON WHITLOCK, Royal Marine Light Infantry, at your service, ma’am.” The young man saluted the gathering. For Elizabeth, he bowed.

“Nice to see you again, Whitlock,” Elizabeth said. Addressing the others, she explained. “The Whitlocks have served our family for several generations. His father looks after our horses. Winston is the first to join the army. When I and my brother came to Mars, we made a request to the right departments that Whitlock attend us.”

A polite silence ensued, one in which everyone but Elizabeth was clearly thinking how that type of behaviour fitted what they had heard of Joseph Highmore. Even Whitlock seemed to understand as his gaze flicked over the assembly, his expression a little apologetic, but grey eyes twinkling. “My family have always had the honour of serving the Highmores, and I naturally jumped at the chance to come to Mars, sirs.” Whitlock pronounced it, sahs.

“Of course.” Annabelle decided she would be gracious. His being here was hardly his fault and, indeed, she would have “jumped” at the chance in his position.

“So you are the instigator of this venture?” Nathaniel nodded to Whitlock.

“Not so, Profess-sah.” This time Annabelle almost shuddered. “More like the mediator.” Mead-de-hate-tah.

Nathaniel blinked, maybe at the way the corporal spoke. His inflections did take some getting used to. As for his doing as he was told, yes, that would be right. A wave of tiredness swept over Annabelle at the way everything…worked. A chain of command was necessary but too many seemed to take advantage of it. If the smile on Whitlock’s face was anything to go by, he was very happy to be here, but it didn’t sit entirely well with her. From what other important duties had the Highmore’s taken him? True, they hoped to save two men’s lives. Henry Barnsdale-Stevens had been travelling with his valet, but what if owing to Whitlock’s absence one such as her precious George died instead? Yet if it were George in need of rescue… A sudden wave of insight as to how Elizabeth must be feeling made Annabelle feel ashamed of her earlier snappishness. Sir Henry was right. At the very least, one always tried not to leave a man behind.

When Whitlock last saw him, Joseph Highmore had been in heavy discussion with one Hat’Kaashteek at one of the mesas known in the Koline language as kraggs. Laboriously excavated internal shafts etched out by slaves provided living quarters and storage as well as numerous secret passages. This particular one had been captured by the Canal Martians and Highmore had followed his friend’s trail there many days ago.

Whitlock had returned in advance of Highmore to Syrtis Major with instructions to procure Esmeralda 2, which Highmore had known was en route owing to conversations with Sir Henry. To expedite matters, the Highmores had signed the Official Secrets Act owing to Routledge predetermining Folkard’s requirements, and circumventing his understandable objections. In addition, Sir Henry had provided another couple of men.

If, as the British suspected, the kragg contained a horde of treasure, even Annabelle would not have liked to remain behind, and she said so now. “We are on good terms with the Canal Martians, but many still wonder if we are nothing more than invaders. After all, this is not our world. They were here first.”

“Excellent sentiment,” Arnaud rejoined. “Rather another man than me.”

“A brave man, sah. That is, I mean…I didn’t mean you’re not…Forgive me, sah.” The corporal seemed to realise his blunder or faux pas.

“Ne pas s’inquiéter,” Arnaud chuckled. “You are allowed to.” He waved a hand. “Louange. Praise virtues of a friend.”

4.

ARNAUD’S FIRST IMPRESSION was a man of sartorial elegance. He arrived intact, complete with well-pressed waistcoat, immaculate suit, top hat and cane. His features were a little too sharp to be conventionally handsome, a fact emphasised by pale green eyes.

“He looks as if he’s going to church.”

Although they spoke in whispers disapproval leaked from Annabelle’s words and contempt from Arnaud when he commented that Highmore was, “dressed for his own funeral.”

“Arnaud!” Annabelle kept her voice low but turned her wide, shocked gaze upon him.

“Give the blighter a chance,” Folkard said, then stepped forward, hand extended. “Welcome…” he began, but got no further.

“My good Captain, may we be off? We can exchange the appropriate niceties once in flight.”

“As soon as it suits our schedule, sir.”

To Arnaud’s delight, the newcomer blinked and stood silent. Highmore completely ignored his sister; however, he touched the rim of his hat and dipped his head to Annabelle. “Allow me to introduce myself. Joseph.”

“Highmore. Yes. We’ve been expecting you. Your sister you are acquainted with. I am Annabelle Somerset.” Her sarcasm could hardly have gone unnoticed.

The man took hold of her fingers, bowed. He still made no reference to Elizabeth, but said instead, “forgive my rudeness to a lady.” Highmore’s tone seemed to belie his expression of good will, and whether he included Elizabeth in that statement was indecipherable.

“Nothing to forgive. I never worry about rudeness when it’s so easy to fight back by being polite.”

If Joseph Highmore had been startled by Captain Folkard, Annabelle’s rejoinder left him with a crimson hue.

With another nod, Joseph Highmore followed Folkard, Elizabeth and Annabelle further inside, his shoulder catching Arnaud’s in passing. Either out of ill manners or embarrassment, no apology was forthcoming, making Arnaud pull back as if stung.

As Nathaniel and Arnaud trailed in the wake of the others, their shoulders collided, but there was no pulling away by either man, which surprised Arnaud. As of late Nathaniel had seemed distant, making even this slight intimacy most welcome.

Chapter Three

“In Which the Crew Take New Steps, and Utter New Words”

1.

“AS YOU URGE EXPEDIENCY, I hope you will reciprocate.” Folkard stood gazing down at the new arrival. They had gathered in the most comfortable part of the common room. Annabelle shared the sofa with Elizabeth. Absent were the two crewmen Routledge had provided—Burton and Carter—and Whitlock, all overseeing the taking on of supplies.

“A friend and colleague have gone missing. I believed Sir Henry would have explained that my investigations indicate he took transport to Phobos.”

“Indeed, but that is all Sir Henry was able or willing to tell. Our questions are how, and why.”

“It’s a family matter.” Highmore sniffed but might as well have snorted.

“One that may lead us into danger,” Elizabeth added.

Highmore stared at her before turning his gaze on the captain. “Folkard, is it?”

Folkard answered affirmative, without drawing attention to the disuse of his title.

Joseph Highmore shifted in his chair, briefly touching the silver-topped cane he had resting alongside his leg. One leg was bent; the other struck straight out, forcing others to step over the offending limb.

Nathaniel’s perception of Mister Highmore had been less than exemplarily. If his assessment of the man proved right, Annabelle would take his hand and firmly shake it in acknowledgement of his perspicacity. It would be a sign that he continued to grow as a person. Once, Nathaniel had read nothing but books. Reading people was a skill everyone needed at times.

“May the ladies adjourn? Perhaps we can discuss this as civilised men, over tea and a drop of brandy?”

“Will there be cake?” Annabelle asked. The remark brought colour to Elizabeth’s face; she visibly had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. When her brother glared at her, she turned her head away, but continued to fight a smile.

“Refreshments are on the way,” Folkard said. Even now, Arnaud moved about the galley as Highmore could well see.

“Excellent,” Annabelle continued, turning her gaze upon him. “And if there is brandy I think I should like a snifter, too.”

Highmore looked upon her as if he stared at the lowest example of a female, but Annabelle would not be…quelled. There was that word again and it served a fine purpose. If this was an example of the men Elizabeth had grown up with, then she owed her an apology. Owed her one, anyway. Whatever had affected Annabelle seemed to have eased, allowing her to see how unfair she had been, at least in part.

“We have…accommodations?”

A terse nod was Folkard’s only reply.

“Elizabeth, I suggest you retire. You know how exhausted all this travelling has made you.”

“Not in the slightest. I find good company quite refreshing.”

“My dear,” Highmore began, clearly exasperated. “For decorum’s sake we men needs must speak.”

“Are you about to tell us things your sister is not privileged to?” Nathaniel asked. “If so, surely she needs to hear them too, if they concern her fiancé.”

“Not everything is for delicate ears. I wish to discuss facts that may affect our strategy.” Highmore looked up at Folkard who remained on his feet, perhaps purposefully.

“Then I really must stay,” Elizabeth declared.

“It will only bore you.”

“I am not bored,” Annabelle chipped in.

“I neither,” Elizabeth added. “As to the rest, if you will not tell them, I will.”

“Really, Elizabeth. You have not exasperated me so since…well, for some time now. Possibly since you were small.”

“I know.” Elizabeth’s sounded quite young and girlish. “I had quite forgotten how. It is amazing how quickly it comes back to me, with the right encouragement.”

Annabelle carefully schooled her face to innocence.

The tea arrived just then and once served Highmore began.

2.

“FORGIVE ME, BUT you say you purchased land on a…rock in space? Land you had not seen or knew anything of?” Annabelle’s note of incredulity possibly echoed the thoughts of everyone in the room. Being of the feminine persuasion often allowed her to get away with certain…audacities. She could make outspoken questions sound as if they were asked in all innocence. If George were here, he would have struggled not to grin, being perfectly aware of what she was about. The fact that he would realise was one of the things that endeared him to her.

“In fact, I won it.” Highmore had the sense to look embarrassed, although he wouldn’t be the first “gentleman,” or the last, to indulge in such dubious pursuits. That didn’t mean Annabelle was in a mood to be understanding.

“Gambling?” She made sure she spoke with the air of a parson’s daughter.

“Quite.” Highmore dipped his head as if the gesture sufficed as an apology. “Men are often…weaker than the fairer sex in such things.”

Although he probably spoke in jest, Annabelle sniffed as if she understood this and did not need his telling. With luck, the sniff would also tell him he had not earned her approval. He had done much to damage her approbation the moment he had stepped aboard and continued to sabotage his own integrity by the minute. “Even so, to win a moon and such a small one…why would one want such a thing?”

Highmore’s gaze slid away. His right hand fiddled with the head of his cane as seemed to be his habit when he felt uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not the whole moon, just part of it…and the deeds are likely meaningless.”

“A con?” Arnaud lounged against the wall closest to where Nathaniel sat, beside a planter from which a vine grew up and wound around nearby pipes. For the first time, Highmore acknowledged his presence, although he seemed to find the plant more interesting to look at.

“It would seem so. From what I could glean from my friend’s apparent movements, he would have reached the same conclusion, which leaves more questions than it answers. But I will get to that.

“As for the bet, I was at odds with the man who wagered the stake. I wasn’t interested in the…spoils, just the act of winning. The only consolation is the idiot believed his purchase totally, and sincerely thought he was losing something of great worth. I had thought something might be salvaged, excavated, but after consideration decided to drop the matter. Henry disagreed and, well, I naturally assumed Routledge would talk him out of it or aid him. Indubitably, if I had known it would result in a good friend going missing…” He let the sentence hang.

Annabelle mentally kicked herself. Yes, they shouldn’t forget that a man’s life might be in jeopardy or have even ended.

“If you weren’t overly interested in the moon, why did your friend set out to investigate?” Folkard asked.

A hint of a smile flickered across Highmore’s face. It transformed his hereto-stoic expression. “Henry has an explorer’s heart. It is one of the reasons I almost didn’t approve of his engagement to my sister.” One glance at Elizabeth said this was not fresh news. “You see, in the absence of our parents who died two years ago, her future happiness falls to me.”

Annabelle sat up straighter although the curve of her spine protested vertical adjustment. Although curiosity prodded her, she refused to question Highmore on how he had lost his parents, she understood the pain too well.

“Alas, the reasoning behind my…reluctance was equal to why I should allow the marriage to go ahead. I could wish for no better man for my sister. The wedding was all set and then Henry had a business matter to attend. This brought him to Mars and while there, he said he would look into this Phobos business. I thought nothing of it, considered the property worthless, but Henry joked. Said that I should add extraterrestrial real estate to the company’s portfolio. I saw no harm in it. I didn’t even imagine that Henry would carry out his plan…but when we lost word…” Highmore’s face lost some of its colour. “Phobos is my last attempt at finding him…and find him I must, alive and well or…” The words stopped almost at the same moment his hand reached out, feeling blindly for the table. The tea he had barely touched splashed into the saucer. The cup appeared to be perilously in danger. Arnaud swept in to save it.

“There are also…personal matters, and…” Mr Highmore seemed to want to express too many emotions in few words. Elizabeth stared at the floor, her hands clasped in her lap. Although no tears were evident, she gave the impression of feeling uneasy witnessing her brother overcome like this in front of strangers. “You see, quite possibly… No. I do, indeed, owe Henry my life, and I would save his in return for all the good things he has done for me, but also for the sake of my sister.”

His grip on the cane turned Highmore’s knuckles white as he leaned forward. Everyone in the room tensed as if they expected him to spill from the chair. His personage was suddenly so agitated that Annabelle would not have been surprised to see him fall at her feet in a fit of convulsions.

“On the one hand, my coming out here and not simply hiring others to find him is foolish. It is worse that I brought my sister, but as you now realise she has a mind of her own at times that does not always readily display itself. If something happens to any of us…” His gestures told them of a future he could not contemplate. “For those who are left their heartache will be tenfold, but Elizabeth loves him, and I owe him. I could do no less. I do not wish anything to happen to my sister, but if I die in exchange for saving Henry’s life then I am assured he will take care of her and give her all that her heart desires. I am certain that he is all that she desires, and she would be content living a poor life if she had him to share it with.”

Good sentiments if a little passé. Annabelle could not be so satisfied as to have a man be the only thing she wanted, but a man to share the things she wanted with her…that was indeed a different matter.

3.

“TO BUSINESS.” FOLKARD sounded quite his usual self again. They had finished one round of refreshments, and were partaking of another, this time with a little of the promised brandy, although Nathaniel was certain Folkard had ordered its employment in an attempt to mellow Highmore. Even Arnaud had finally taken a seat once the brandy appeared. “You travelled to the Astusapes Highlands. Why?”

“Henry’s trail…”

“Forgive me. It would be better to ask what you discovered. We understand he was seeking transport to Phobos, but what led him to believe such a thing could be found?”

“That…I am at something of a loss to explain, except in a circuitous way.”

“Mr Highmore, really we must.”

“Bear with me, Captain, please. When I followed Henry’s trail, the minutiae of which I won’t bore you, it led out to the Highlands, that is true, but initially I believed he was heading for the shipyards in Parhoon.” He paused, looking a little dreamy, and although Folkard was not the only one to want to hurry him, they held their tempers. “Ahh, would that I had found him there. I would have told him to forget this folly. Would that we had time for cricket at the Parhoon Oval and stayed awhile.”

Was Highmore waxing lyrical?

“My enquiries led me to a bar. Henry had…taken a room there.” He sounded rather perplexed over that. “Why he should choose to board in some cheap establishment was beyond me and I deduced there had to be a reason. I believe he had made a contact in the bar and he remained until he could make the arrangements he sought. As to what, at first I merely believed his actions led to the forbidden liftwood groves. The High Martians are not above making deals.”

“That’s as may be but they are at best pirates, at worse bestial, and not to be trusted. They are best dealt with through certain channels.”

“Quite,” Highmore replied to Folkard’s comment. “Leading me to surmise that he met someone who already had those connections. The man whom Henry set out to meet was not Martian. I hear tell the…human spoke with an accent similar to yours, Miss Somerset.”

“An American?” Annabelle expressed surprise.

“Since the British established a colony here, you can rest assured the other powers are unwilling to simply hand control over to one nation.”

“In as much as one can control a world or nation one does not ‘own’, or indeed a society one does. I am quite aware of that, Captain. While Mars remains the only source of liftwood, it will engender conflict. It is simply the British and the indigenous Martians I have mostly encountered make it all too easy to forget the others.”

“One can hardly forget the Germans or the Russians. I hear tell there is also Japanese on the planet. And apparently at least one Frenchman.” Highmore looked to Arnaud.

“Oui,” Arnaud said, smiling.

“Well, the French do not concern me.” Highmore took a moment as if to build tension. “The Germans and Russians may be another matter.”

“Germans and Russians?”

“That is what I said, Miss Somerset. Henry’s contact was American, but as I understand from Hat’Kaashteek, the group of men the American dealt with spoke several differing languages that Hat could not fathom, yet there was one thing he did detect.”

“And what is that?”

“No matter the linguistics and apparent difficulty faced by the necessity of cross-communication, according to old Hat they spoke the argot of the mercenary.”

“Hired soldiers?”

“I’m not so sure I would go so far as to call them soldiers. More like hired guns. Those who would follow others for a share of the…bounty.”

“And what bounty might that be?”

“Good question.” Highmore fished in his pocket, producing a chunk of…crystal or glass. “It’s not diamond,” he said, bouncing a rock small enough to sit in the palm of his hand, but clearly weighty. “I’m not sure what it is, but the men Henry has fallen in with, believe it valuable.”

“How then did it come to be in your possession?”

“They apparently tried to pay old Hat with these some weeks ago. When he refused, there was a…heated discussion. During the exchange, several stones went flying into the scrub. The men gathered them but apparently, one was overlooked. The Martians found it, but consider it worthless and so do I.” The misshaped lump caught the light and looked alternately clear and pale yellow. “This could be the most valuable find of the century and I wouldn’t care unless I could exchange it for Henry’s life.”

The comment gained him points in their estimation.

“May I?” Nathaniel held out his hand. Highmore handed the stone over without further comment.

“What did the American want with Hat’Kaashteek’s people?” Annabelle stressed the Martian’s name, as though making a point of refusing to use Highmore’s condensed version of Hat.

“To trade. Supplies and liftwood.”

“This suggests they have a ship.” Annabelle’s mind was working several steps ahead. “Are you saying there are already men on Phobos?”

“Certainly. At least Henry that I’m sure of, his valet, and this American chap.”

The stone was suddenly a great deal more interesting. Annabelle turned her gaze on Nathaniel.

“You seem to have doubts,” Elizabeth said, her tone asking why.

“Phobos is a moon like any other as far as I am aware.” Annabelle spoke to the room, but her next sentence was aimed at Nathaniel. “The gravity will be low like Luna.”

“Indisputably. Maybe there is some degree of difference, but it is airless…on the surface. Perhaps it resembles Luna in other ways.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth leaned forward. “Airless? How then have we conquered Luna?”

“The moon is hardly conquered and quite simply we have pressured suits for walking about on the surface. Beneath the crust, there are pockets of oxygen. No, the problem comes with manoeuvring an aether flyer in low gravity, specifically with landing. For that one needs a propeller governor such as we have fitted.” Nathaniel hesitated. “If there are mixed nationalities in the party and one is Russian…” He looked at Annabelle. “Is it possible?”

“That even now Tereshkov haunts us? I can think of no other explanation, although it leaves many questions.”

“Although I am at a loss to the subtext of your conversation, I take it that you accept it is entirely possible another flyer equipped to land on Phobos has done just that?” Highmore asked.

“Improbable, but possible.”

“But why would my dear Henry become involved with such ruffians as you describe?”

“My sweet Elizabeth, I said they were men of dubious repute. I did not call them ruffians.” Highmore said “sweet” as if it was a synonym for naive. Stone and Highmore exchanged a look, Highmore smiling slightly.

“I do not see how it fails to amount to the same thing.”

“Then I suggest you look to Earth’s politicians for your answer. Many of them are decidedly untrustworthy and of questionable character and yet we allow them to govern our society.”

“Joseph! Really. That’s a…”

“Terrible thing to say? Yes, indeed, it is, but many a true word is spoken in jest…though I was not jesting. As to why Henry may have fallen in with these types, he is not always the most prudent of men. Hence the reason I felt despondent concerning your engagement at first. Henry is a thoroughly decent sort. The best of men. I would go so far to say as he is what men should be before they are deigned worthy to enter the gates of heaven; however, he is intrepid to the point where he seeks to find how a thing can be done before he considers whether it should be done. That includes his safety and I would not wish to see you heartbroken.”

A moment of silence endured in which Elizabeth appeared to search for an argument before giving up, and the others looked at Highmore in a different light.

“I had assumed, if Mister Barnsdale-Stevens had reached Phobos at all that he had used a short-ranged battery-powered flyer.” Nathaniel considered the problem. “He has no experience with such machines?”

“None,” Highmore confirmed.

“Then, yes, a short-ranged flyer would have made sense. There’s no need continuously to align the boiler and there are few maintenance issues. Push the throttle and go.”

“Until the battery runs down?”

“Quite.”

“And the landing problems?”

“Yes. Precisely why I,” Nathaniel glanced at Elizabeth, “feared the worst. But if he has, as you say, gone to Phobos in the company of others with a fully equipped flyer then he has a better chance for survival.”

“If they have not turned on him?”

To that, Nathaniel had nothing to say. His expression was nothing to the one that now shadowed Elizabeth’s face.

“I’m sorry, dear sister, but I would rather you face the very real possibility that Henry is dead.”

Elizabeth’s hands fluttered for a moment, until she clasped them together in her lap. “No. No, you are right. There are no guarantees that we will find Henry, dead or alive, but we will do our best.”

Highmore smiled and stared at them all, looking once more the predator. His stare as good as challenged them to deny his sister, just as Sir Henry’s had. Nathaniel considered some sins were small in the grand scheme of things, and forgave him.

“It would seem we have a mission,” Folkard said. Nathaniel heard words the captain didn’t say. They had another mission in addition to their search for minerals.

“Do you mind if I…we study this?” Nathaniel asked, pausing to glance at Arnaud.

“You may.” Highmore took a breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, while squeezing his eyes shut. He chuckled as he opened them. “If you can make a diamond out of that, Stone, you’re most welcome to try.” He winked and smiled, looking from Stone to Fontaine.

It was only then that Nathaniel realised how they were sitting, Arnaud’s legs crossed, and his ankle looping over Nathaniel’s, gently brushing against his leg as he so slightly swayed his foot up and down. There appeared to be no animosity in Highmore’s wink, but suddenly Nathaniel felt something had gone wrong with the environmental systems. Perhaps he should check the solar boiler and make sure the sun’s rays were focused on the water tank. The steam created not only powered the ship’s turbine and generated electricity; it functioned to keep them all from freezing in the depths of space. Right now, Nathaniel seemed to be generating enough heat of his own. Was his face burning?

Chapter Four

“In Which Great Men Struggle Against Adversity”

1.

“SO THAT IS the notorious Joseph Highmore?” Annabelle said, interrupting Nathaniel’s reading, though how he could read with the noise of the engine as a backdrop was beyond her.

“I never said he was notorious. I said…”

What had he said? Some nonsense based on rumours, as she recalled. Now he broke off, before adding, “In the face of the man’s obvious pain, it simply does not matter.”

“He certainly seems overly concerned with the fate of his…friend.” Annabelle began to pick up books, looking at their contents before closing to put back quite out of order.

“There are many reasons people form lasting attachments.”

He refused to look at her so Annabelle placed a hand on the back of his wrist and squeezed. “To be fair,” Nathaniel continued, as if she hadn’t touched him, and Annabelle withdrew, confused, “I have nothing against Highmore personally, and I was not entirely wrong. The man does gamble.”

“If we were to ostracise every man who gambled we would soon run out of amusing conversation.”

“You know I do not refer just to g-gambling.” Did he expect her to fill in what he wasn’t saying? “Ignore me. I have become a hypocrite.”

Seeing Nathaniel at once more in danger of hiding among the pages of the books, Annabelle reached out to brush her fingers lightly against one side of his face, making him draw back. Finally gaining a reaction absurdly pleased her. No doubt he found the caress improper, but since when had she ever cared about all things appropriate, and in some circumstances, certain priorities seemed trivial. Annabelle was quite aware she had no concerns regarding unwanted behaviour from Nathaniel; it should hardly surprise him she would flout established protocol.

“If what he chooses to do in his personal life is all that concerns you…”

“It is not.” Having rudely interrupted her, Nathaniel quickly added: “Admittedly, it now appears we have a mutual reason to travel in the same direction; however, I object to our endeavours being subject to the whim of others. I…prefer to have people around me I can rely on.” He flushed. “That sounded pompous. Forgive me.”

“Indeed, though it was as much complimentary as pompous. Have you noticed he looks a little like you?”

Her words must have shocked him for Nathaniel gaped, before snapping his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth. “A hint of ginger peppers the man’s hair, and he is tall.” It sounded as if he simply refused to clutter his head with such nonsense.

“What are you studying now?” She purposely spoke as if the pursuit of knowledge were tiresome.

“Without Fenn, I’m doing the work of two men trying to keep the engine room up to spec,” a hiss of steam, and a pop chose that moment to back up his words, “while working out what that peculiar rock could be. I have Arnaud running experiments. And all the while I’m naturally attempting to ascertain all we know of Phobos, although it’s painfully…scarce.”

Seeing Nathaniel drift back into the nexus of theories compounded with questionable facts that the scientists of Earth knew about Phobos, Annabelle quietly slipped away.

2.

“SO THIS IS an engine room.”

Highmore was most amused when Stone rose too quickly, banging his head on an overhang as he backed out from the space where he’d been working.

“Sorry, old boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Stone gave him a disgruntled look and then said, “Careful. Don’t touch anything. Some of this can be quite hot.”

“You do surprise me.” Highmore injected sarcasm.

“There’s hot and there’s hot. Trust me.”

Highmore gave Stone a searching look. “Very well. I will. Tell me, is it always so unpleasant in here?”

“Yes. I’m afraid we need to conserve both oxygen and moisture and therefore the solar boiler’s safety valve vents into this room.”

“Creates quite the humid atmosphere.” He glanced around, stepped forward, crouched, and fingered one of the books lying open on the floor. “Not a manual. You’ll ruin good books in here.”

“I’ll ruin any book in here, but time is not kind and needs must.” Nathaniel winced no doubt at the smudges of oil on the book Highmore examined, pages curling in the steam.

Highmore read aloud. “Blah blah blah. Moons are named after characters, Phobos meaning panic or fear, and Deimos meaning terror and dread. How cheerful.” He grinned. “The discoverer wrote that since Jupiter has four known moons and Earth one, it was only natural that Mars have two. What defective reasoning.” He skipped some passages.

“Phobos is an irregular shape… More blah. Rises in the West, sets in the East to rise again… ” Highmore looked up. “A heavenly object that sets twice a day, does that not interest you? Something that gives off a barely perceptible but regular outgas that many believe is water? And is it not spiralling inwards, towards Mars?”

Nathaniel’s gaze narrowed. “It’s entirely possible owing to its orbit which is faster than Mars’ rotation. It could move ever closer to Mars and eventually break up.”

“No other…theories as to what could cause the phenomenon?” Before Nathaniel could answer Highmore asked, “How large is it?”

“Quite small. About sixteen miles only at its…”

“Sixteen miles.” Highmore interrupted. “Sixteen miles in a straight line does not seem so much. Sixteen miles down… Plenty of space to harbour a wealth of discoveries, hmm, Professor?”

“If the satellite is hollow, it could in some way account for its comparative lightness of a spatial body and explain the acceleration of orbital motion.”

“I took you for a more candid speaker. Scientists speculate Phobos and Demos are captured asteroids. Others that they are artificial satellites. Interesting theory, do you not think?”

“I have also heard speculation that Phobos could contain a reservoir of ice, which might explain the out-gassing.”

“But it could conform with what we now know of Luna, could it not?”

“You refer of course to the hollow world, the caverns and underground river.”

“Of course. Be honest. Do you think we will find something in the core?”

“It’s entirely possible. Although Phobos is much smaller than Luna. Some astrophysicists have speculated Phobos is of artificial origin, its surface a thin sheet of metal. They base this analysis on estimates of the upper atmosphere of Mars, concluding that Phobos must be light.”

“So, another hollow moon?” Highmore watched Nathaniel regarding him, but if he had given this greater thought, he said nothing.

“Have you discovered anything about the rock? The type of quartz?”

“No. The crystal resembles pale citrine but I no more believe it to be that than diamond. We’re not sure that it is quartz at all.”

“Then what could it be?”

“I have Arnaud working on it now.”

“Ah yes, our Mister Fontaine.”

Something went through Nathaniel’s gaze. Highmore’s intention was to dissect him, but as he examined Nathaniel he in turn felt as if the scientist had him pinned to a board under a microscope.

Highmore straightened up. “Do you know that Phobos and Deimos are often called the sons of Mars?”

“I’ve heard the reference. I prefer to deal in fact rather than myth.”

“Yet names often arise from myth, as do some facts.”

“Some,” Nathaniel admitted.

“You do not find it entertaining that Phobos means fear, Professor Stone?”

“As I said, I’ve heard the reference. Phobos, fearful son of Mars.”

“Quite so. Henry was always fascinated by how things were named. He always felt that often there was just cause.”

“Was?”

“Is.”

“What are you getting at, Mister Highmore?”

“I’m…not sure,” Highmore said, with a slight sound of laughter in his tone. “And please, for the remainder of this trip, let it be Joseph.”

Nathaniel hesitated. “Hardly…”

“Welcome? Appropriate? Not even for comrades going into battle?”

“Battle? We cannot be sure…”

“But I am sure…Nathaniel.” Joseph cast his gaze to the side, overhead, and then back around to stare at Nathaniel again. “I am not talking about the men we may or may not meet on Phobos. I do not know why, but this excursion makes me uneasy.”

“That’s understandable. Your friend…”

“I believe him alive and well. Do not ask me how. Oh, I know I have pushed Elizabeth to face the very real possibility of his demise, but at heart I sense he is alive. Yet I sense…something. A trail of breadcrumbs, perhaps, but all leading to what?”

Highmore thrust out his hand. “Truce?”

Nathaniel made a show of glancing at his less than clean hands, but more likely, he was hesitant to shake on such an agreement.

Highmore laughed. “We will both of us I fear get rather dirtier before this expedition reaches its conclusion.”

Nodding and possibly not knowing how to refuse the handshake without appearing less than gallant, Nathaniel shook. Highmore left a piece of paper pressed into his palm, as they unclasped. Nathaniel understandably looked suspicious, but he unfolded the page.

“It was left with Hat’Kaashteek with instructions and payment for its delivery to Sir Henry at Syrtis Major. Whether the canal Martian would have carried out this request or Henry simply wasted his money is a matter for dispute, but the note found its way into my hands. The communication is primarily to Elizabeth, but I thought it important enough that you see. I have let her read it so she is fully aware of its contents. Once you have finished, I would request that you return it to her. There are some…personal comments, which I ask you to skim. I dithered whether to reveal this to you, but I should hate to retain something that proves important. Henry’s scrawl is untidy, but as you see, he may have found something quite interesting on Phobos. And you will see…the difficulties I face. Henry…has a wonderful nature, but he is in many ways as innocent as Elizabeth. I wished for her to marry someone who could take care of her, not to gain a brother I needed to take care of as much as I do my sister.”

“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.”

“How much time before we gather the ground crew?”

Highmore broke into their conversation, arriving on the control deck without Folkard’s permission. He was about to berate him for what he knew was an offence, but something in the other man’s mien gave him pause, so Folkard answered him. “Fifty minutes.”

“So long?”

Folkard disliked the man’s behaviour. He’d harboured no desire to leave the ship and attend his sister and had allowed Whitlock to go in his stead. A poor showing by all accounts, and now he’d gone against Folkard’s express orders to keep clear of the control deck.

“Would our time not be better served doing a sweep?”

The surprise in Doctor Fontaine’s face did not escape the captain. They both studied Highmore with expressions of concern.

“We will not leave this position until the others come aboard, sir.”

“We need to locate the other flyer if, indeed, one does exist,” Highmore said, pacing, talking as if he hadn’t heard.

“And we will, once the others return.”

The man stopped sharply, eagle gaze piercing. “Our enemies may be gathering at our flank while we debate.”

“There is no debate; the decision is mine. Tell me, sir; why would you wish to move off and leave your sister unattended?”

“Unattended? Why no. She has Whitlock to care for her. It’s just…”

“Yes, Sir Highmore?”

“I…don’t know.” Highmore fiddled with his cane in such a manner that it made Folkard desire to take it away from him. “I just… This all seemed so much easier when we were moving.”

“Easier? Moving?”

“Yes, Captain!” For a second Highmore’s stare became a glare. “The ship did not feel half so…crowded, when we were in flight. You keep a disorganised ship, Folkard.” Then, as if the man realised his outburst, he fingered his collar. “It grows hot in here.”

“The environmental controls are functioning as they should.”

“You’re sure? No. Of course you are. Why must you keep these aether ships so damn hot?”

Another look at Arnaud confirmed to Folkard what he already knew. The ship was not hot, the temperature normal. Whatever was bothering Highmore, he was the only one feeling it.

“Can you not move this ship to cool things down?”

“It is not hot and movement has nothing to do with the internal temperature of the ship.”

“What rot! The only other explanation is equipment failure. Inspect the…gimbal arm or whatever you call it. Turn the boiler’s mirror away from the sun!”

“That would not be wise at this juncture.”

“Is it any wiser that we should all boil like lobsters? You’ve flouted authority from the moment I arrived. Elizabeth told me. I know you had the audacity to question Routledge, a man by far your superior,” from Highmore’s tone Folkard deduced Highmore did not just infer rank, “and now you refuse to move to cool things down when we are clearly at risk of overheating.”

“And I have told you moving has nothing to do with the systems you speak of on this ship. Calm down.”

“Do not tell me to calm down!” Highmore brandished his walking stick. Folkard met his outburst with a moment of silence before speaking.

“You are lacking in social graces, sir. As to your complaint, I speak from fact.”

“Provided by Stone no doubt. An amateur’s take,” Highmore sneered.

“You seem to forget I am captain of this vessel and while that does not make me an engineer, it does mean I have some knowledge of how the craft I command works, sir!”

“And as for amateur, one could say the same of yourself, sir,” Arnaud interjected only to have the man’s wrath turned on him.

“You speak as your precious Professor Stone sees it.”

“I speak as others higher in authority than you see it.”

“And what would one such as yourself know about the higher echelons?” Highmore paced towards the geologist, close enough to whisper in his ear. “Why are you here, Doctor Fontaine? To determine whether my friend, Henry, has indeed found wealth?”

“We’ve already agreed that is not the case.”

“Then it seems to me you serve no purpose.”

“The doctor is not part of your expedition. He is part of mine and has a greater standing than you do on this ship!”

“I will not be spoken to like this, Captain.” Highmore got up close and personal until the captain could smell the man’s sweat, but he refused to back off.

“Then get the hell out of my control room, sir! Or I will have you confined!”

3.

THE MOMENT WHITLOCK HAD mentioned feeling queasy, Annabelle’s stomach had flipped

At first, she could do nothing, then as things became more frantic, her breathing laboured, her stomach clenching in unbearable cramps, she isolated his thoughts from the plight of his friends and concentrated on feeling well. There was no reason for her to be sick other than possibly talking herself into it. I will not be sick. I will not be sick. I refuse.

As soon as she felt better she had turned her attention to her companions, and she and Nathaniel—who seemed unaffected—had talked them around. Despite this, by the time they made it to the base of the monolith, Annabelle fought to breathe. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on the edifice as they approached. At one point, she’d lost track of their reason for being out here and knew nothing beyond the placing of one foot in front of the other. The shadow of the monolith had acted more as a marker to aim for than a profound find.

Even now, she struggled to turn her attention to the very thing they had come out here to examine. She glanced back. They hadn’t walked far. Folkard had brought the flyer in as close as he dared. Why then did it feel as if they had walked miles? Was there something wrong with her suit? Was it faulty?

She noticed Elizabeth and Burton seemed to be in similar straits. What were the chances of three out of five pressure suits having a fault?

Sabotage?

She wanted to call to Nathaniel but he seemed taken with the monolith and as for Whitlock… The other man’s gaze appeared to be a reflection of hatred, although she couldn’t tell for whom. That could be the glass in his helmet distorting the light. Had to be. The crazed notion left her shaken, her pulse pounding. A drop of sweat ran to her temple and then paved a path down the side of her face. It itched as if the salt in her sweat had dried instantly on her skin, and she longed to wipe it away, but trapped in the helmet she could not…although…

A terrifying revelation hit Annabelle that she had raised her hands as if to remove her helmet. Even now, she wanted to.

Cannot. Must not. To remove the helmet meant suicide.

Trapped. Ensnared. Annabelle couldn’t breathe. Why had she willingly cocooned herself in a suit designed to protect her from the dark depth of the aether, and why had she ever thought something so flimsy could be designed to do that? Humans weren’t supposed to be out here; this was madness.

4.

“CAPTAIN?”

“Yes? Out with it man!” Even Arnaud was acting edgy.

“We seem to be gaining pressure on the solar boiler. It’s slow, but been climbing steadily, as if the ventilation isn’t working correctly.”

Folkard marched across to the control panel, gaze skimming over gauges. He flicked a couple of switches then straightened. He and Arnaud looked at each other almost as if they were having the same thought. Following his threat to throw Highmore in the brig, he’d suggested the aristocrat retire to his acquired cabin until the others came back aboard, and the man had been almost too eager to leave.

Folkard straightened. “It would seem, Doctor, that while you have spent your energies watching me, we should both have been focusing on our honorary gentleman.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Arnaud said, and then turned on his heel with a quick nod. Folkard took his seat and set his mind to ignoring the march of insects across his skin.

5.

FROM THE SHADOWS, Highmore watched Arnaud. He made no attempt to hide his arrival, no doubt aware Highmore would know someone was coming after him. He hadn’t expected the good captain to send the Frenchman but that made his job easier. The sap looked ill prepared for violence.

“Highmore, sir! Whatever you have done to this ship, I suggest you show yourself and repair it. If you do, Folkard will forgo pressing charges.”

Charges! As if he cared. What was the threat of charges next to asphyxiation? The walls were closing in on him, making the amount of available air diminish by the second, and here was a Frenchman invading the small space, stealing his oxygen.

Highmore gave Fontaine no reply but the doctor probably hadn’t expected one. The geologist moved deeper into the engine room, head turning and tilting as he listened for sounds other than the predominant hiss of steam. Highmore slipped further away. As he moved, one of his boots nudged something and he looked down, spying one of Stone’s precious books. He kicked it over the edge of the walkway and carried on even as the sound alerted the doctor to his whereabouts. When he got hold of Fontaine, he would do the same to him.

6.

THINK.

If they were all suffering the same ill effects then were they all suffocating, wanting to shrug off their only protection? Annabelle had to stop them. Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was Whitlock and Miss Highmore struggling.

Was the traitor Whitlock? Or Joseph Highmore? Was Whitlock trying to murder them all at his employee’s command?

Salt running into her eyes made Annabelle blink. Her vision cleared. Whitlock wasn’t trying to hurt Miss Highmore any more than her brother would, and now, Annabelle struggled to understand why she’d even thought that possible. Joseph Highmore loved his sister; Annabelle would…stake her life on it. She was staking all their lives on it.

If there were nothing wrong with the suits then something was affecting them. She didn’t know what… Maybe Phobos itself. Maybe the reason its name was so closely linked to fear.

Swallowing and gathering her courage, Annabelle took a deep breath. The artificial oxygen was unpleasant, but not toxic. When quite certain she was of sound mind, she called to the others. She had to make them understand they could not trust their emotions, their own senses. If she failed, at least one of them might not make it back to the ship.

7.

“ARE YOU THREATENING me?” Highmore’s gaze flicked from Arnaud’s face to the wrench he held.

At any other time, Arnaud would have said no. He had no desire to scuffle with another man…at least not in this type of situation. He shrugged, swinging the wrench lazily. “I was just doing a little exploring down here.”

“Not your field, Fontaine. You belong underground.” Highmore wasn’t talking about a cave. Buried was more like it.

“I may need a wrench to repair whatever damage you caused.” In truth, he had stumbled across the tool and picked it up as the only defence he had.

“Damage? Moi?” Highmore used the French word as if to mock him. “What makes you think I would know how to damage anything any more than you would know how to repair it? Ahh…but then I can see that you do know something of how all this works. Which is a pity, for ignorance would better serve self-preservation.”

“I have no idea how this all works. As you say, I belong elsewhere. This…” Arnaud spread his arms, gesturing to the somewhat cavernous space they currently occupied. “Non. This is Nathaniel’s domain.”

“And I’m sure he’s taught you a thing or two.”

Arnaud almost said it was the other way around, but stopped himself in time. Highmore would not be the only one surprised over the things Nathaniel knew. “What did you do?”

“I see no point in denial. A cable here. A cable there. A venting system is apparently not that difficult to interfere with.”

As he finished speaking, Highmore moved so fast Arnaud barely had time to bring up the wrench. The only thing it did was to prevent Highmore braining him with his cane, although Fontaine felt grateful for even that small mercy. The wood and metal connected. Both spun away. His hands and arms went numb. Unfortunately, the impact didn’t seem to have quite the same effect on Highmore. At any other time, Arnaud would at least have been the man’s equal, but something magnified the man’s anger.

Arnaud managed to land Highmore a good clip on the jaw, which fazed Highmore not one bit. The man was fuelled with rage…and something more.

Fear, Fontaine realised, although he could not understand the cause of it, and now was not the time. Highmore had managed to get his hands around Arnaud’s throat. Instead of trying to drag the man’s hands away, Arnaud punched him in the face.

8.

“WHAT DO YOU make of it?”

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel replied to Annabelle’s question. “The sheer size…” He couldn’t take accurate measurements. The two straight lengths appeared to have no markings on them. The curved side…had engravings. “I’d say this is a language of some kind.”

“Like hieroglyphs?”

“Similar, yes, but this is more a mixture of words and symbols. Picture-grams as well as written language. Perhaps designed so that more than one species or manner of beings could understand it?”

“Professor Stone, begging your pardon, sah. We must get back.”

“Yes.” It was time to go and assimilate all that he’d taken in. He’d learned something important here, but he was damned if he knew what. He missed Arnaud. Would have liked to share this with him. He wondered what the geologist was doing right now.

9.

HIGHMORE COULD VERY well throttle him. Arnaud had punched the man twice to no effect. He couldn’t pry Highmore’s fingers loose. His hands were like steel traps. He had two choices. One was a head butt to the man’s forehead. Arnaud chose the other. He lunged and kissed him.

Highmore reared back, cursed, spat, wiped his mouth with the back of one hand…and seemed to come out of whatever had possessed him.

“What the…?”

Arnaud spat while massaging his throat. “Trust me. I enjoyed that no more than you, but short of braining you and possibly myself in the process I chose the less painful option.”

“I…” Highmore stared around the engine room as if he failed to understand what he was doing there. “Forgive me.” Highmore rolled clear, staggered to his feet. “I…am myself again. I don’t know what came over me.”

“And that, sir, is a problem, but not the only one.”

Highmore stared at him, clearly puzzled.

“You did something to the venting system. We have to find it and repair it before it becomes critical.” Highmore grew pale even as he watched. “Help me, Highmore. Think! What did you do to the ship? Help me to repair it, and then we can pick up your sister and the landing party. We can…discuss what has happened here sensibly at a more convenient time.” He took Highmore’s nod as an affirmative, but made the other man walk ahead. Arnaud stooped to pick up both the wrench and the cane on the way.

Chapter Six

“In Which There’s Fear in a Handful of Dust”

1.

“I KNOW YOU want me to explain what happened, but the simple answer is I cannot! Now, sir, will you release me from the brig?”

“I would hardly call my cabin the brig,” Folkard said.

“It looks no better,” Highmore said then relented. “Forgive me. I realise my attitude is not about to gain your trust, but neither of us must forget the reason we are here. I still have a man to find. Release me.”

“When I have had a chance to discuss the situation with the others.”

“But you heard what Stone said!” Highmore’s protest accompanied much gesticulating, before he no doubt realised such wild expressions would not help him gain his liberty. He sat down on the cot. “The others were affected out there as much as I was here on the ship. You, yourself, Captain, have felt the effect of Phobos.”

“I do not know what I have felt though I am prepared to be open-minded. Nevertheless, I request that you remain here while we make our final move towards Stickney. I will have you escorted to the common room as we approach. Until then, think upon gaining command of yourself and maintaining control.”

Highmore reddened as Folkard turned on his heel and left.

“I owe you an apology,” he said to Arnaud. “I’ve left bruises on your neck.”

“That you have.” Arnaud managed to ignore the urge to swallow. To do so would only hurt.

“I…don’t know how.” Highmore looked at his hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “I would have thought you and I were at least well-matched.”

“You seemed motivated by something…otherworldly.”

Highmore seemed to consider this. “From what little I can remember it felt that way. I cannot recall everything I did. I thank God I did not kill us all. Despite my protests, I understand Folkard’s reasoning. I will…require watching.”

“As will we all if something here is affecting us.”

The other man regarded him. “And you, Arnaud, are you affected by something here?”

“That I do not yet know.”

Highmore nodded, although what he meant by the gesture was lost to Arnaud.

“The…manner in which you stopped me…”

“Let’s not dwell on it.”

“You are…contrary, are you not, Doctor Fontaine? Unorthodox, some might say.”

“I prefer avant-garde,” Arnaud said with a smile. “I suggest we leave what occurred here, and I will come fetch you myself as soon as we sight Stickney.” He left Highmore nodding and went to find Nathaniel. He’d just been strangled half to death. Nothing like a good throttling to focus your reasons for living.

2.

“I’M NO PHYSICIAN but there seems to be no permanent damage.”

This close to him, Arnaud was aware of Nathaniel not only examining his neck and applying some soothing balm to the developing bruises, but the concern in the other man’s eyes. Despite his modesty, Arnaud was well aware that Nathaniel had been studying Blackwood’s Pocket Physician book, and if Nathaniel said all was well he felt inclined to believe him. He reached up to touch Nathaniel’s wrist. “I am fine. You are fine. The others are all fine.”

“If we were about to head home, I think I would take consolation in that. I do not like this place. It seems to bring out the worst in people. I have a confession to make.”

Arnaud waited.

“I had heard of Joseph’s reputation, but my resentment did not stem from that. To me he is typical of the type of establishment who bend laws to suit their own needs and do not temper them with the very thing they are supposed to uphold: justice.”

“You blame the likes of Highmore for your incarceration at Chatham as well as many things that have happened to you.”

“Yes, in some ways I do.”

“Yet you do not entirely believe your own defence.”

He waited until Nathaniel lifted his gaze to look at him in puzzlement. Arnaud wrapped one of Nathaniel’s hands in both of his, purposely choosing the weaker wrist, weaving their fingers together and bringing them in front of his face.

“Your depth of feeling, mon toujours, it is perhaps your worst failing and yet the best thing about you.” He tightened his grip. “If you were not a good man you would not feel the need to be punished for things you could not prevent. Forgive yourself. Enough, I say.” Arnaud sat back. “Mon dieu. You are not listening. Yet this is why I…” He stopped at a shake of the professor’s head.

“You’ve said enough. For today, you’ve said enough.”

Maybe it was just as well, for Annabelle spoke from the doorway. “Would you two like to retire?” She waited until she had their attention and then said, “Hurry. We approach the crater.”

Arnaud nodded and then sat silent as Nathaniel finished his doctoring.

3.

“A PLOUGHED FIELD.” Nathaniel shot Highmore a look although he knew to what the man referred. Highmore turned wide eyes full of wonder upon him. “Grooves.”

They now stood crammed in the control room, and although this irritated Folkard, it was the best viewing screen and he could hardly deny them these sights. There had been a slight altercation with Highmore, but he insisted on a brief look. Then he used the trump card of his search for Henry, and his association with Routledge. How much weight either of these carried with Folkard was another matter, but likely in order to waste the least time Folkard had relented.

Naturally everyone wanted to be here, but Annabelle was currently manning the engine room, it having been agreed that scientifically Nathaniel and Arnaud had the most to offer. Nathaniel was ready to run the length of the ship at her call should any problems ensue.

Like Highmore, Nathaniel was lost in the wonder of the scarred surface, the spectacle of which confirmed the minimal reports so far made by Earth’s scientists.

“Intriguing configuration, do you not think?” Highmore came to stand on Nathaniel’s left, separating him from Arnaud. Aside from seeming a little embarrassed, the man was back to his old self.

“Furrows.” Arnaud’s description was even more apt than grooves and added to Highmore’s remark of a ploughed field. The manner of machinery necessary to form these furrows would have to be wielded by giants.

Highmore looked from Arnaud to Nathaniel and back again. “Observations?”

“Why ask? You indicated you are less than enamoured with scientists,” Arnaud said.

“For the most part that is true. So prove me wrong, gentlemen.”

“The…furrows are aligned along the length of the moon. They could be an overrun from the collision that caused the Stickney crater, as an impact is the most likely explanation for both. Really anything I say would be speculation.” The continuing silence invited Nathaniel to do just that, but he refused.

“Strip mining,” Arnaud ventured without hesitation. Nathaniel turned his head to stare at him, a look that he readily returned.

“Enlighten those here who may not know the term,” Highmore commanded.

Without breaking his gaze, Arnaud spoke to the room, his words utilitarian. “A term that simply means surface mining, stripping the layers of rock and soil. It gained popularity as early as the sixteenth century. It’s been used to extricate coal…oil…minerals.” Arnaud gave the word no particular emphasis but clearly the geologist was wondering whether indeed the minerals they sought were here on this very moon. Folkard remained silent, listening. “The most likely explanation for the…trenches, are a result of the impact which caused the crater; however, the patterns in the regolith are not remedial from the crater and would be indicative of strip mining. It would likely also account for size.”

Yes, size, for the grooves were… “What do you think?” Nathaniel asked Arnaud. “A hundred feet deep?”

“Oui. A thing that could be achieved by the gradual removal of layers. They have to be…” Arnaud stared out the viewing port, pursing his lips. “The smallest I judge three times the width as is deep, and some are double that. Their length runs for several miles.”

“I thought the Martians had no interest in Phobos,” Folkard said, brow furrowing in a good rendition of the surface. “Didn’t Sir Henry say…?”

“That they had superstitions? Yes. Mostly, they seem to have no wish to discuss it. During my conversations with the Canal Martians, I learned they seem to…fear it.” Highmore said that last directly to Nathaniel. “But if these marks are the result of mining…then who? The other men? The ones here before us, who have Henry?”

Arnaud flicked a slightly pained but sympathetic look in the man’s direction.

“Impossible.” Arnaud pronounced it the French way: im-poss-si-blah. “These marks have taken place over time. Some are fresher, others worn by years. Some have been here longer than I care to gauge. They angle over one another, overrun.”

“Stone?” What had happened to Highmore’s calling him Nathaniel? “You have nothing to add to this yet call yourself a scientist?”

“When I have something to live up to that expectation I will impart it.”

“For now I suggest you all look ahead.” Everyone obeyed the captain. “That’s our destination, gentlemen.”

The Stickney crater! Though to call it so did it a disservice. At Folkard’s order, the Esmeralda 2 eased along the rim, although they were still some way up and merely changed their angle of drift. From their vantage point, they began to perceive its depth and breadth.

“What size is this thing?” Highmore stepped forward, allowing Nathaniel to bridge the gap to join Arnaud. The two men bent their heads together, although Nathaniel had to bend rather more than Arnaud. When soft strands of the geologist’s hair brushed the side of his face, it was all Nathaniel could do not to leap back. They conversed. He straightened, grateful to do so, and a little sorry. “Approximately six miles in diameter.”

“There appears to be a smaller crater inside the giant one.”

“That would be Limtoc,” Arnaud explained.

Folkard dipped his head, gaze intent, once again projecting the image of a man whose mind was only marginally here. When he ordered them into Limtoc, no one questioned why.

4.

THEY DESCENDED INTO darkness.

“Decidedly unremarkable.”

“You sound puzzled, Highmore. What were you expecting?” Having no wish to talk to the aristocrat, Folkard couldn’t resist baiting him. The…itching had diminished but remained as vibrant in his mind as were Arnaud’s bruises. The geologist even now stared at him and from the way he held a hand to his throat, probably felt battered.

“I’ve been in caves in Devon more interesting than this.”

“Of such magnitude?”

A glance revealed an irritated curl of Highmore’s lip. That such caves as this existed on Earth, Folkard had no doubt, but that Highmore had been in one was disputable.

The cavern in which they descended was large enough to allow more than adequate manoeuvrability for Esmeralda 2. Their projected lights extended far enough to reach the sides, but the outer walls remained in gloom. Nothing pierced this twilight except shifting shadows, which at first Folkard had taken for movement until he reasoned what could be down here to move?

Anything. If his encounters so far had not taught him this, they’d taught him nothing.

A sudden pitch of the ship made him take a step to right his stability. “Whoa,” he said only to receive strange looks from the others. It was then he realised he’d been the only one to move.

“Ear infections can affect balance.” Arnaud’s words were plausible and, he suspected, used as a means for Folkard to save face, but he had no doubt as to the hidden message. Arnaud was watching him and would continue to do so. From here on out they would all watch each other.

“Perhaps that is so, Fontaine, but needs must I carry on. We have a rescue mission.”

“Then you believe Henry alive and well?” Highmore sounded hopeful.

“That I cannot say, but clearly we are not the only visitors.” Folkard pointed. Below and slightly to the left they caught their first sight of the other flyer, a crude vessel to be sure even from this distance. It looked as though someone had cobbled it together in a private workshop. Folkard couldn’t say he’d like to be out in the aether in such a craft.

“They’re damn lucky they didn’t encounter a vortex,” Nathaniel commented.

“Quite so. And it is a wonder that they have made more than one trip from Mars to Phobos. Two at least that we know of, probably a minimal three.”

“Of course,” Nathaniel concurred. “The original mission. The trip for supplies where our unknown American encountered Henry Barnsdale-Stevens, and possibly one to set up the operation.” He shrugged. “Whatever that happens to be.”

“I hope the trip to the monolith was worthwhile, Stone.” Folkard gave him a pointed look.

“As do I. I have much to decipher, and will try to do my best as we continue.”

“Is it my imagination or is it brighter the lower we go?” Highmore sounded surprised.

“There does appear to be some luminosity.” Folkard peered into the darkness attempting to answer Highmore’s question. “I do not see any signs of moss to explain it.”

“Moss?”

“A tedious explanation,” Nathaniel replied to Highmore’s enquiry without bothering to give one. “Is that ship…grounded?”

Folkard tilted his head. “I think not.” He brought the flyer about forty-five degrees.

Their lights shone on the haul of the other vessel. “Keep an attentive watch,” Folkard ordered. So far, all was quiet, but if the mysterious crew had left guards upon the flyer, they should be prepared for attack at any moment. “Ah…there. Just as I thought. See those wires.”

Steel grey twisted cables spread out like netting from all angles of the flyer, shot into the bedrock of the walls. The flyer floated just a few feet above the cavern floor.

“Be careful of those cables! We don’t want to come to damage by becoming entangled.” Hesitating, Folkard turned to Stone for some advice. “We can, however, affix our vessel to theirs?”

“I see no reason why not.”

“Will not the extra force on the cables pull them free from however they are fixed?”

“A logical question, Highmore. The answer is no. The lack of gravity provides weightlessness. The very reason we float means there is no pull. The cables are not so much a method of pinning the other ship, simply one of tying it up. An anchor, if you will.”

Piping through to the common room, Folkard ordered Whitlock, Burton and Carter across to the other ship.

“It feels too quiet, sah.”

“A good sentiment, Whitlock.” Folkard was beginning to like the man. He was quick to step up to a chore. To those on the control deck, he said, “The rest of us will meanwhile seek the point of entry.”

“Point of entry?”

“Into the heart of Phobos, Highmore. Even if some crew has been left upon the other vessel they came to Phobos for a reason, and would not have found it hovering at the bottom of a well.”

“We suit up?”

“Indeed, Professor. Time for reconnaissance. Find the means to go deeper and see whether there is an internal atmosphere.”

Nathaniel sighed. “And I just got out of the damn thing, too.” He squared his shoulders. “Needs must. We take to the sand.”

“Dust.” Arnaud interjected. “I examined the sample you provided. It is not a falsehood to call it sand, but it is of too fine a quality for the word to suffice. The…top soil, if you like to call it such, consists of dust.” As if his words were not enough, Arnaud pulled out the test tube containing the reddish surface of Phobos. He pulled the stopper then poured a sample into his palm. A fine vapour arose from the grains. “Dust. The surface of this moon, and I expect the base of the craters are made of dust.” Heads craned forward to see that Arnaud indeed held a handful of dust.

5.

“AT LEAST THERE’S no smell,” Nathaniel murmured.

They had found a tunnel leading into the moon and an atmosphere. Once able, they had removed the suits. Further movement into the tunnels would be impossible so encumbered, so they left Burton to guard them, having already left Carter with the ship. Both men had orders to give them twenty-four hours before thinking of rescue. By then they would be well on their about their business or the worst would have happened. Owing to Highmore’s insistence, Whitlock went with them.

Seeing Arnaud’s puzzled expression, Folkard explained. “The professor and I shared our first walk on Luna in underground tunnels such as this. Though there was more room, quite frankly.” At times, they were down to single-file and often had to duck or even crouch to progress under overhangs. In addition, they had only their lanterns for light. Whatever had provided the faint glow back at the main cavern was now conspicuous by its absence.

“You were saying?” Arnaud prompted.

“Yes, the um…smell was most readily apparent on Luna. While I am grateful for its absence here, I feel that I would exchange the cleaner air for…ow!” Folkard rubbed his head where he was sure a sizeable lump would shortly begin forming. Examining his hand in the light, he was grateful not to see blood. A scalp wound could bleed dreadfully even when not serious. “As I was saying, I would welcome the smell if it meant more room.

“Careful everyone,” Folkard called along the line. “The last thing any of us needs is a concussion.” Highmore visibly winced.

“Are you well, brother?” Elizabeth’s tone rang out causing the convoy to pause.

“I…fare well,” Highmore said with some hesitation, no doubt realising all eyes were upon him. “I have a dislike for enclosed spaces it would seem, but it is not a matter for concern.”

“So much for the extensive caves he has experienced in Devon,” Folkard whispered as they forged ahead.

Chapter Seven

“In Which Arnaud Tells Everyone

That Nothing in Life is to be Feared, Only Understood”

1.

ALTHOUGH ANNABELLE WANTED to insist she could continue a little longer, when Folkard called for a rest, she silenced her natural impulse. They had been walking for longer than she cared to consider and Highmore was not looking his best. As they all sat, he confessed mild claustrophobia was proving to be ten times worse on Phobos. She overheard Nathaniel say that probably accounted for his actions on board Esmeralda 2, and while Nathaniel was no doubt right, she could not be so forgiving.

How he would fare as they carried on remained to be seen. The irregular tunnel, which she had at first thought was flat, had in fact been leading gradually down, the slant so slight she barely noticed. When she had remarked upon it, no one reacted in surprise though clearly they all had become so intent on placing one foot before the other while taking care they did not bash their heads on the uneven ceiling, none had given it thought.

When they broke into a larger cavern, and Folkard told everyone to rest, she saw sense and sat without complaint, taking the refreshment offered. She wasn’t hungry but was grateful for the water. Still, she ate, taking no notice of what she consumed or even the flavour. Her body required fuel, the food was fuel, so she consumed it. She remained quiet, aware of conversation, questions from Highmore addressed to Folkard and Nathaniel about their trip to Luna. His query mainly seemed to be of how far tunnels such as these could extend, but really, the man might as well have asked how long was a piece of string. Luna was far larger than Phobos. Indubitably, this was also another world. Fine…it was a satellite, and of a finite size, but to call it a world was accurate enough. It was a world unto itself. Tunnels could loop back on themselves, lead in circles. The aether and the astral bodies within its sphere contained mysteries far beyond human understanding. Highmore’s questions were not to do with scientific enquiry. The man was suffering. Any fool could see that. At least when they’d been moving, he’d fallen into silence. She tried her best to be sympathetic but if Phobos heightened some senses, maybe it suppressed others, such as compassion.

Elizabeth Highmore sat with her eyes closed, either pained by her brother’s outburst or oblivious to it. Her expression looked…quite peaceful. Her temples throbbing, Annabelle considered how she longed for just a few moments of peace herself. Now that she was fed and watered, Annabelle was eager to continue.

Rising quietly, Annabelle stepped over the outcrop of rock she had been sitting on and headed into the tunnel on the other side. She would not go far, and even if the others noticed her missing, the cave had one entrance and one exit. They would catch up with her. She left her rifle, but took her gun.

She had only ventured a few feet when light from her lantern caused something to sparkle. Intrigued, Annabelle moved ahead, taking a wide berth where the tunnel curved, bracing for attack. This tunnel was as empty as the one she had left, but the light definitely reflected.

Annabelle put away her gun to free one of her hands. She soon discovered the source of increased illumination. Small rocks such as the quartz Highmore had acquired littered the ground. Snagging one, Annabelle held it in front of the light. Just like a prism, the glow passed through and dispersed in a wider spectrum, in turn bouncing off similar rocks on the ground and being thrown out to brighten her surroundings. The effect was beautiful. Flickering flames of radiance shimmered against the cavern walls, the glow alternately pale yellow and occasionally pale red as to appear as rust. Annabelle reasoned the cause was the colour of the quartz and the red colour of the…dust, not sand. Indeed, Arnaud was right. Fortunately, the floor of the tunnels had given way to hard rock for to walk upon the dust kicked up a fine powder, one that tickled the nose, and she imagined, probably unkind to one’s lungs.

Taking the time to admire the trick of light, Annabelle blinked when something else caught her eye. Something black.

Moving towards the object, she was reminded of her false leg, as she had to adjust her gait in order to reach over the rocky outcrop to snag the black rock she had seen.

Not rock. Slate? The moment she drew it into the light she could see that the flaky texture of the find in some ways supported that idea, but although flat, the slate also had a curve. Not only that, it glittered.

Turning her acquisition, Annabelle spied a myriad of colours. Black was the base, but it shimmered green, purple, blue and pink. Could this too be quartz? A type of mineral? Was the centre of Phobos in truth a geologist’s idea of heaven? How exciting for Arnaud.

Pocketing the mysterious slate, Annabelle calculated she hadn’t gone far. Just a few feet more would enable her to see if there were more pieces and then she would take her discovery back to Arnaud. Facing forward, she spied a tight split in the rock. No trouble for her to slip through, though some of the men would be hard pressed.

The tunnel continued on the other side, and yes, there laid another piece of rainbow quartz. Picking it up, she almost dropped it again as a clear, almost musical female voice rang out.

“Are you off on your own adventure, Miss Somerset?”

The other woman was so slight she walked through the split with ease. Despite her audacious phrasing, Elizabeth appeared shy, glancing at Annabelle uncertainly.

“Are you not going to tell me to return to the men?” Elizabeth asked after some moments.

“So you can inform them I’ve wandered off and I have to listen to complaints?” Annabelle had no reason to be snappish, having, indeed, wandered off. Nathaniel for one would not be happy with her. Neither would George if he were here. She could only hope he never heard of this.

“Not at all. And I skip out on my brother all the time.”

“You do? Pray tell, where do you go? Into the garden without his knowing?”

Maybe it was the flickering glow or maybe Elizabeth blushed.

“I’m…sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“I had thought you were being kinder to me of late, but I see your feelings towards me still appear to fluctuate, and yet you make a stand by my side when it is important.”

“I stand by you when it is a matter of emancipation.”

“The equality of women? It is an interesting notion.”

“It is no notion. Something you might learn if you travelled more.”

“You do not mean to tell me that the females of Mars are equal to their males?”

“In some ways, no, but in others, yes. There are differing races on Mars just as there are on Earth and as many perspectives.”

“I have to say these…garments are more practical.” Elizabeth ran her hands over the trousers she now wore. When Annabelle had suggested they would be more practical for getting in and out of a spacesuit, Elizabeth had refused, and Highmore had been almost outraged. When told if they had to remove the suit once underground it would leave Elizabeth in nothing but her undergarments their objections had ceased.

“Yes. I dare say if more women tried on trousers, skirts might become obsolete.” Casting her gaze about, Annabelle looked for more of the slate. “So, have you discovered a taste for adventuring?”

“I have always had such, and so does Joseph despite his protests. He even balloons on the weekend.”

Annabelle shot the other woman a look to see whether she was serious. When Elizabeth’s twinkling gaze and small smile displayed she was joking the two women burst out laughing.

“I…suppose, to one as widely travelled as yourself I must seem frivolous. I…regret we seemed to get off on a bad footing and yet there have been glimpses into what could be a friendship, if we are both so inclined?” The lilt of Elizabeth’s voice made that last a question. Aware of the underlying hope in the other woman’s tone, Annabelle relented.

“I do not find you…frivolous. I am sure you are a perfect example of womanhood as deigned by London’s standards, but I… Oh, that did not sound as I intended.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I quite know what you mean. You would abhor my home life. ‘We have guests, Elizabeth. Attend them, Elizabeth. Order the servants to bring refreshments, Elizabeth. Your hem is too short, Elizabeth.’” As she spoke, Elizabeth swayed left and right, little curtsies to invisible guests. Her tone had taken on a pitch that quite replicated Joseph’s voice. She looked at Annabelle at the conclusion; the two women stared at one another, before laughing again.

“What do you have there?” Elizabeth gestured towards another piece of slate Annabelle had just discovered.

“Quartz of some kind, possibly. If this moon is indeed a great find of precious or semi-precious stones then I can quite understand why someone would have mining interests.”

“I can see that. In either case, whether it was for gems or land, they would not be reasons for my Henry coming here.”

“No?”

Another sigh ensued. “I must seem like a silly lovestruck girl to come all this way looking for my fiancé.”

“Nothing of the sort.” Annabelle’s thoughts were full of George just then. She picked up another piece of slate.

“Hmm…no. Perhaps not. The captain is not without compassion, but I feel you appreciate that I had no choice in the matter. Does Nathaniel have a wife?”

“N-nooo,” Annabelle said carefully.

“Yet I am sure that if he did and she was out here alone that he would come after her.”

“Yes, quite,” Annabelle said, remembering Nathaniel’s insistence that they go to Ceres to find Arnaud.

“And yet it is true.” Elizabeth stopped walking so that Annabelle had to turn to face her. “I am frivolous because I’ve never known any better. Now I do, and it has taken me losing my Henry before we even began life together to make me see that.”

“Do not give up hope.”

“Oh, I do not mean he is necessarily deceased, but I have lost him almost as assuredly. Coming here was Henry’s dream. Not here,” Elizabeth gestured with her hands in a manner Annabelle guessed to mean Phobos. “But out into the aether. My brother is quite correct. Henry has an explorer’s heart and he… What was that?”

A sound like the skittering of stones, but not. Annabelle felt the hair on her nape stand to attention. “Nothing.” She gazed around. “We have come farther than I intended. We should start back.”

“Won’t the men be coming shortly? Can we not wait?”

“Most assuredly not.” Taking Elizabeth’s arm, Annabelle propelled her back the way they had come. It couldn’t be. Yet she had recognised that sound. Although it wasn’t entirely the same…a strange chittering could mean only one thing, even though this moon was so much smaller and so far away from Luna…

“I have indeed lost him,” Elizabeth Highmore was saying. “One adventure, but now that he has had a taste for it, one will not be enough for my Henry.”

“If that be his choice, can you not join him?” Sweeping her lantern around, Annabelle gazed down the path from whence they had come. Where were the others? They should have caught up by now.

“Henry? Adventuring? Oh…no, I… Well, I suppose I…could.” Elizabeth became absorbed. “It would make Joseph most unhappy,” she said as if speaking to herself. “Do we have to march this quickly?”

“I have no wish to alarm you, but…” The quartz. The slate. The iridescent beauty of it. It’s curved shape.

“Which is just the thing to say that will alarm me.” At least Elizabeth now picked up the pace. Both women gazed about, ahead, behind and to the sides. “What… Eeek!” Elizabeth stumbled back. Annabelle turned to look at from what the other woman retreated and saw there, at the side of the path, a disturbance in the dust, shifting sand, rising up, black that flashed with iridescent loveliness.

Not slate: Shell! How could she have been so foolish not to recognise it? She was so busy watching the creature unfurl she was barely aware of Elizabeth’s tugging.

“Here we go again,” she muttered, even as Elizabeth demanded, “Kill it! Kill it!”

“I’m not sure I can.” Would her stiletto pass through? Would a bullet from her revolver make an impression? True the Selenites of Luna died too easily but this…creature had as many differences as it had similarities.

Undoubtedly, a beetle, with a three-part segmented body, the lower, largest third from which four legs protruded. The middle part was wider than it was long and looked like a collar surrounding the head. Another two legs or arms jutted from this collar, and atop that, a head of shell with a small amount of exposed, softer flesh contained what she supposed were the eyes and mouth. The ends of the hands and feet were somewhat forked. Medium to small hairs lined the edges of the shells. One edge lower down had sustained slight damage, but that did not mean a bullet would penetrate. Feelers twitched, testing, tasting, the air. Had it been laying in wait?

“Can we outrun it?”

“Doubtful. And I cannot be sure that is wise any more than attacking it would be.”

“Are you not afraid?”

“Of a large bug? You have definitely not been to Luna.” The question was whether this creature was in any way as friendly as K’chuk had been. Even among the Selenites discrepancies existed in their behaviour and one could not forget the decidedly unfriendly red Saltators. She could only judge this creature by its behaviour and had yet to ascertain its intentions. If this was an adult then these creatures were far smaller than the giant ants of Luna. This one reached her waist and made it appear somewhat childlike, although it was unwise to let that fool her.

“Don’t go near it!” Hands clutched at her waist as Annabelle took a step.

“One of us must do something.” From her pocket, she produced the scraps of shell. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what this was. I found it pretty.”

One of the arms reached out. Annabelle stood her ground, as the creature took a piece in what amounted to something resembling a claw. Although it didn’t appear to be greatly dextrous, she suspected it would be able to slice through her skin, even amputate her wrist with ease. That it took the shell with marked gentleness amazed her.

“I am Annabelle. And this is Elizabeth.” The creature replied with more chittering but whether it could understand her, she certainly could not understand it. A stretch to hope these creatures knew English as well as K’chuk’s race, if at all.

The beetle handed back the shell and she took it, bowing. After a fashion, the creature bowed back. Had she made a friend?

Glancing at Elizabeth, she said; “Now, isn’t this adventuring?”

2.

“WHAT THE DUCE?”

“Blimey.”

Highmore spoke first, Nathaniel second and the word sounded so incongruous coming from his mouth that Annabelle almost laughed. She looked up from where she was seated on a rock. “Do not tell me the sight of a larger than normal insect disturbs you so, Nathaniel.”

“It hardly needs saying. I fear the day I grow used to such things.”

“Now that I understand.”

“Elizabeth, get away from that thing!” Highmore not only scolded his sister, he moved to shoulder Annabelle’s rifle, which he was carrying.

“None of that, sir.” Folkard disarmed him before the aristocrat did something foolish. Annabelle received her weapon with gratitude and made a mental note not to leave it lying around again.

“But…it’s a beast!”

“Yes, but they have giant ants on Luna, Joseph. Friendly ones.” Elizabeth sounded almost giddy. If not for the fact that Annabelle could feel her trembling, she put on a good show of fearlessness. Nathaniel shared a look with Annabelle she read easily: Had she not told Elizabeth of the unfriendly creatures they had also encountered? She gave him an innocent expression.

“Careful, Miss,” Whitlock interjected.

Highmore did not appear able to look away from the creature. “Elizabeth, do not be so stupid.”

Elizabeth flinched as if stung. Annabelle glared at Highmore. “Stupid to believe me or to remain close to this creature?”

“Both. Either. Alas, Elizabeth cannot tell when people are teasing her.”

“You do not believe? Not even what you see with your own eyes?” Annabelle made sure her tone revealed her annoyance. Highmore’s company grew tiring. “It must be wonderful to be so selective. Bad enough that you should call us liars, sir, but you are not blind.”

“But how can a creature grow so large?”

Nathaniel fulfilled his role as a scientist. “There are many theories. It is said creatures of the deep grow to considerable size. Variations in pressure could have something to do with it.”

The explanation seemed to be enough for Highmore, or he was simply so stunned he didn’t care. It saved anyone having to explain the Heart and the evolution of the Selenites. Annabelle knew she could not be the only one to whom this had occurred. The mystery deepened.

“I admit…the first sight…” Elizabeth gave a little shiver. “It takes some getting used to.”

Folkard intervened. “The point being, Highmore, that to shoot this creature could cause an outbreak of hostilities we can otherwise avoid. And where there is one creature, there are liable to be others. We could bring a swarm upon us.”

“The captain is right. I was following a trail of these.” Annabelle held out a fragment of shell that the others passed around and examined. While they did, she made a point of asking Nathaniel what had kept him.

“We made a discovery of our own. The monolith feeds into the ground.” Nathaniel looked up as if he could see through the crust of Phobos. “I do not know how deep it extends, but I assure you, it pierces this moon. Add to this to what we know of the skeletons found both on Hygeia and Phobos, and now these insects, it would seem we are in a similar situation as we found on Luna. Our simple rescue mission just grew more complex.”

That it had, even more so when an exclamation rang out.

“Magnifique! Scarabaeoidea. More commonly, a dung beetle,” Arnaud explained as others looked upon him. “I should have recognised it the moment I… How do you say? Set sight on it?”

Elizabeth had quickly withdrawn her hand, which had been patting the edge of the creature’s shell. Annabelle continued with the petting. “I suppose that accounts for the lack of smell.”

Nathaniel gave her a look.

“Does nothing faze you people?” Highmore muttered.

“Nothing in life is to be feared, only understood,” Arnaud said with great cheer. “I am not saying that is what it is. It is, after all, not my field. But I suppose it must exist on something and one explanation is as good as any. I have never seen one of such magnitude, of course, and can only tell you that on Earth some also feed on decaying vegetation, leaves, mushrooms, fruits. Some even ingest small millipedes. Those that survive on dung do not need to feed on anything else because they get all their nutrients from…”

“Fontaine! Really. There are ladies present.”

The Frenchman pulled a strained expression at Highmore’s curse, and fell silent. Annabelle spoke.

“If they feed on dung, then pray tell…what excretes it?”

3.

THE BEETLE SEEMED tired of Annabelle’s petting. They all looked at each other, an open question in their eyes. The beetle paused at the next intersection turning to gaze back.

“I believe it wishes us to follow,” Arnaud said.

“You are anthropomorphising an animal,” Highmore accused.

“Only from expérience. Well done on the correct use of such a long word, though.”

“Gentleman, please,” Annabelle interrupted before things could get out of hand.

As they followed the creature deeper into Phobos, Annabelle sidled beside Nathaniel. “Nathaniel, I am beginning to think there should be only so much burden on one quest team at one time. Although…it is exciting, is it not?”

“I…do rather find I am enjoying myself, when the…influence of this place wears off. I have to confess to almost constant irregular feelings of…dread.” Although he admitted to the fact he seemed to need to search for the correct word to explain his emotions.

“Yes…. I do not like admitting it, but I too have found my feelings reprehensible. I think it is safe to assume that something here is not only inducing fear but playing with our emotions.”

4.

TWO HOURS LATER, they broke out into a much larger cave. Light here did not seem to be an issue. A single lantern reflected in a continuous pattern from many of the clear gems scattering the floor and, in places, the walls seemed to be lined with it. A small incandescent flower, which the beetles also appeared to eat, carpeted areas of the cave and these too sent sufficient light to reflect from the walls so that they were able to conserve their lanterns.

“So they do eat some type of vegetation.” Annabelle smiled at Arnaud.

“Incredible that anything can grow down here,” Highmore said, but his voice sounded strained rather than wondrous.

“Are you feeling the effects of claustrophobia again?”

“No, Miss Somerset. Thank you for asking. The effects have…eased.” He sounded as puzzled by that as they all were. “And you, Elizabeth, seem quite untroubled.” Of them all, the other woman appeared most calm.

“I would not say completely. I have experienced some anxiety, more so than I would say is normal. Some of that I can attribute to the situation, but not all. I do not believe I am as troubled as the rest of you.”

“I wonder why,” Highmore said. “You never have liked insects and so I would have thought these would petrify you, and with just cause.”

“Maybe I’m too stupid to be affected or afraid.”

Gaping, Highmore stared at his sister. Before he could voice his thoughts, Annabelle said; “Just because we’re surrounded by giant beetles, do not assume that is a bad thing, Mister Highmore.”

Several of the larger creatures encircled them now. Annabelle tried to look for the…notch in the shell of the one she thought friendly, but they were mingling back and forth and she could not see.

5.

“DO YOU SUPPOSE the smaller ones to be c-children?” Unlike the adults, the children had shells of black and gold, displaying a greenish cast. Only the adults appeared to have the rainbow iridescence. Elizabeth stumbled over the concept, owing no doubt to earthly prejudices and even religious ones. Arnaud had never believed in God, but after visiting what could well be an afterlife of sorts and seeing his mother waiting for him, he was at least open to other possibilities. If a Godlike being existed, maybe He had created animals for man’s use, but if that were so, why intelligent talking ants? Highmore accused them of anthropomorphising, but were they so wrong in that? The animals of Earth showed concepts of family; he’d seen a dog pine to death when its owner died. The universe had revealed many mysteries to him; he had no doubt it had many more to disclose. Perhaps man only thought he understood the concept of God, just as they thought they understood creatures such as these. Perhaps the truth was something greater than anyone had envisioned.

Seeing Nathaniel in deep thought, Arnaud said, “I would hand you a penny, mon toujours.”

Nathaniel smiled. “I was just contemplating mankind’s ego and the idea they consider themselves wise.”

“I suggest we accept their hospitality such as it is,” Annabelle said, having been led to an open area.

“Well put, Miss Annabelle.” Folkard settled himself on the ground. The others followed suit. A general disturbance among the beetles suggested a degree of busyness.

“I don’t see the point of this,” Highmore complained.

“We may gain information.”

“With respect, Miss Annabelle, we cannot even understand these creatures. What makes you think they are capable of imparting any useful intelligence?”

“It’s Miss Somerset, Mister Highmore, and what makes you think they are not?”

Highmore blinked, pulling back a little, but then carried on as if oblivious to her scolding. “The sound they make for one thing. Nothing more than a dumb insect.”

Nathaniel broke in on the discussion. “Which is not to say that it isn’t language. Animals on Earth communicate. Just because we cannot understand them… Well, surely that makes us dumb, not them.”

“Oh, come now, Professor. Even if that is true, it has its limits. Animals can no more understand us than we can them.”

“Have you never owned a dog?” Annabelle asked.

“Hounds.”

“And do they obey your commands?”

“That’s entirely different. They understand by the sound of my voice whether I am angry or pleased. They do not understand the words.”

“But what is language if not sounds at its very basis?” Arnaud could not resist the challenge in Highmore’s tone. “Humans can equally communicate by gestures as they can verbally. Even if your argument proves true, you are most put-out and it is entirely possible these creatures can hear that in your voice.”

As if to pull the conversation back in line, Nathaniel interrupted. “I’m afraid we need to discuss a few things of which the Highmores may not be privilege to, Captain, but needs must win out.” Nathaniel went on to mention the coincidences in the similarities between Phobos and Luna.

“I am convinced it is no coincidence.” Folkard looked thoughtful. “However, things are as different here as they are similar. I hate to admit it, but something here makes me feel uneasy. I cannot…pinpoint it.” He gave the other quest members each a specific stare. They each in turn nodded to say they understood. Folkard was not sensing anything like the Heart.

“What in the blazes are you talking about?” Highmore glared at them all. “Do you think me such a fool as not to realise you are discussing something without revealing all?”

“Then do not be a fool to suggest you do not understand the need for political and military secrets.”

“Captain, I assure you…”

“No, sir!” Folkard interrupted. “You can assure me nothing. You are here as our guests and at my sufferance. We have taken time to aid you both, and you have reacted badly to the effects of this place. This remains our mission and you will do as I say.”

Highmore seemed at a loss for words. He flinched when Elizabeth touched him.

She withdrew her hand but said; “I am sure the captain has his reasons for his decision, and we could not respect him if he did any less.”

Arnaud was studying a piece of the carapaces Annabelle had collected on the way. “Highly like the complexities of a mineral.”

“There’s one thing I can add to that.” Digging into his supplies, Nathaniel drew out a notebook. “These are the sketches I’ve made of what I saw on the monolith.” He searched for the right page, turned it over so the others could see. “Look familiar?”

“The beetles!” Annabelle sounded delighted.

“Yes. At first I thought they were scarabs, but…” he glanced around, “clearly.”

“Did you make out anything else?”

“There’s something here. These symbols I believe are a type of alphabet. I’ve not been able to figure much out, but this,” he tapped the page. “I believe the start of this word is Chal. Possibly, Chaldrite.”

A mad chattering began in the nearby group. Nathaniel blinked at them, while Arnaud hoped he hadn’t spoken some scandalous word that would cause the beetles to turn on them.

“I wonder…” Arnaud said. “I was just thinking. Chalcopyrite is a type of rainbow rock. The shells of these creatures definitely have that effect. Chondrite is a stony meteorite. I am just wondering over the origins of their name, if it is indeed the name of their species. The origins of language…how do we know it began on Earth? An interesting concept if a little troubling. If such suppositions have any foundation it could throw much of our history into question.”

“As fascinating as that is, Fontaine, I do not see how it helps us find Henry.” At least Highmore had calmed down.

“It does not,” Folkard interrupted. “But despite your desire to be on your way, I suggest that we seize this opportunity to rest, get some sleep if possible.”

Before anyone could argue or agree, several Chaldrites approached. They laid pieces of the black shells on the ground.

Nathaniel picked one up to examine. The others took time inspecting the offerings too.

“It seems they mean to feed us,” Annabelle said.

“You mean eat?” Elizabeth stared at the bowl in her lap as if it contained…exactly what it contained: long spiny legs of white shell filled with meat.

“I should be the one first to try it, sah.”

Everyone ignored Whitlock’s offer, although Highmore looked as if he seriously considered it.

“It looks like something that would come out of the sea.”

“Better than frog’s legs, eh, Arnaud?”

For a moment, Arnaud was very tempted to put down his dinner and size up to Highmore. Nathaniel shook his head.

“Let’s hope it tastes better than it looks.” Annabelle shrugged, and scooping out a small piece with her fingers put it into her mouth.

“Annabelle, no!” Elizabeth recoiled. “What if these things are…cannibals?”

“I do not think so,” Arnaud said. “This shell is quite different.”

“Even if that is true, we were just discussing the intelligence of beasts.”

“Will that stop you partaking of roast beef when you get home, mademoiselle?”

Elizabeth frowned. “When I first met you I thought that French accent of yours cute. Now it’s starting to annoy me.”

Arnaud just stared at her. Then he started to laugh. Annabelle joined in around a mouth of…what, Arnaud did not know. White mush? She saw him looking at her. “Tastes like chicken,” she said, and the next moment, they were all laughing.

Chapter Eight

“In Which the Crew Struggle to Separate Dreams,

Fears, Fantasies and Reality”

1.

THE FIRST THOUGHT to pierce the fog in Arnaud’s brain was that Nathaniel no longer rested in the spot where he had curled up to sleep. The second, as he eased his tired, aching bones into a seated position, was that the interior of Phobos did not make for the most comfortable bed. The creatures, when they slept, had the advantage of tucking limbs in against the sides of their shells and then calmly resting within their carapace. Ahh…the advantages of being a turtle.

He’d not slept well. Strange thoughts and disturbances had shadowed his dreams, and although they now seemed fleeting, left a sense of unease. Whatever he had dreamt, they were things of nightmare.

Moving gently so as not to disturb the others, he glanced at their faces. If their expressions were a way to judge, they were not enjoying the landscapes of their slumbers any more than he had done.

He found Nathaniel on the other side of the cave, crouched in front of three creatures. His toujours drew in the red sand, which seemed to delight the—it took Arnaud a moment to think of the word—Chaldrites.

He approached Nathaniel and the Chaldrites slowly so as not to startle them and then crouched. Some sticklike figures resembled people. One even wore a top hat, the sight of which made Arnaud smile. There were two representations of men. Even as he looked, Nathaniel gestured to one group, pointed to where the others lay, touched Arnaud on the arm, then pointed at the drawing. He then gestured to the second group and spread his hands, before pointing to his eyes, then the creatures, then the drawing again.

One of the Chaldrites chittered as it rose up. It moved so abruptly that Arnaud first took its excitement for anger. He tensed and felt Nathaniel’s hand on his arm, holding him in place. Clearly, Nathaniel had made some headway understanding these beasts. The creature shifted forwards, the oval shape of its head straining. Waving antlers over the drawing, it then turned in a direction angling across the cave to one of several tunnels. Nathaniel stood pulling Arnaud with him.

“You really think they’ve seen the other party?”

“It would seem likely and we can but hope. They’ve not done anything threatening and could likely overpower us so I doubt they’re leading us into a trap of their own making. You looked tired.”

“Hmm? Oh…yes. Nathaniel, were your dreams…uneasy?”

“That’s one way of putting it. I cannot say I remember them precisely, but I know I dreamed, and I know it was unpleasant.”

“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel. From what I can see the others are experiencing the same.”

“I guess we should wake them. It’s not as if they’re resting easy.”

Arnaud yawned, scratched at his chin. “Yes. And we need to be on our way. The sooner we get started, I hope the sooner we can leave. If we spend too long down here, we’ll all have beards.”

“Except for the women.”

Arnaud laughed softly. “Yes, except for the women.”

“It’s not unbecoming on you.”

Arnaud looked to Nathaniel’s face, wondering if it was a trick of the light or his imagination that made the other man’s cheeks look pink. “It wouldn’t look unbecoming on you, either,” he said, wondering whether Nathaniel would deduce his true meaning. A flicker of puzzlement flashed through the other man’s eyes, before they widened. A vague expression of pleasure softened his features. Pleasure that sat as uneasy with Nathaniel as his dreams apparently, as he also managed to look troubled.

“It hardly feels real now but our lives were very much in danger yesterday. Highmore could have throttled me. Any one of you might have removed your helmet and died in the vacuum of space.”

“Yes, I realise that.” Nathaniel sounded rather dismissive. “However, it feels as if our lives have been in danger so often lately that one event blends into another.”

“Oui, it does. And while I am, what you might call pragmatic, it does not mean I am without heartache. Some say the bad things in life are designed to remind us of the good and that we should grasp even the smallest chance of happiness while we may.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer him right away, but after a few seconds said; “You’re not…wrong.”

A small cry drew their attention. Elizabeth sat, looking dazed and bewildered, her countenance gradually changing as she came more fully awake. Her cry having disturbed Annabelle, she reached out in a tired, lazy fashion to comfort her. Folkard also moved. He kicked Highmore into wakefulness, and then made no reference to having done so. Whitlock was already awake but fortunately had his back turned to the scene and was not a witness.

“What else did you learn from the creatures?”

“I’m not…sure.” It sounded as if it pained Nathaniel to admit that. “I’m positive I learned more than I realise or understand.”

“Pray tell,” Annabelle said, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

Nathaniel hankered down as the group shared out supplies and washed a meagre breakfast down with more of their water ration.

“I believe the markings on the monolith speak of creatures that do or have inhabited Phobos, but equally they could indicate creatures from far away.”

“That’s subjective, Stone.”

Arnaud whispered. “It’s funny how Highmore calls you Stone when annoyed, non?”

“Actually not as subjective as you may think,” Nathaniel said, lips twitching as though he suppressed a smirk at Arnaud’s comment. “The Chaldrites are depicted on the monolith. It is reasonable to assume other things depicted there exist somewhere. What other purpose would it serve? Also, although I cannot be certain for the depictions are crude, I believe the creatures illustrated tie in with Quintana’s discovery of Drobate skulls on Phobos.”

“Drobates?” Highmore enquired.

“Just another species. Do not concern yourself. As for the Chaldrites, I have also been trying my best to communicate with them.”

“Communicate?” If Highmore noticed the deflection, shock distracted him.

“What have you learned, Professor?” Folkard asked, ignoring Highmore’s outburst. He appeared more tired than anyone did. Dark circles ringed his eyes, ironically giving him a hardened, criminal appearance.

“That we need to take that passageway over there.”

Elizabeth looked up, clearly hopeful. “Henry?”

“I am afraid, Miss Highmore, that my communication involves many hand gestures and drawing in the dust. While I can make them understand we seek others like us, it does not break down into the identification of individuals.”

Not wanting to quash the woman’s hope, Arnaud said; “They are likely to be one and the same, Miss Highmore. At the very least, they are the most likely to know what has become of your Henry.”

“Do not hope for too much, Elizabeth,” Highmore said, his scolding gaze aimed at Arnaud.

“You do not have to keep reminding me that we may find Henry dead!” Elizabeth rose, walking to another part of the cave. When Highmore moved as if to go after her, Annabelle waylaid him.

“She is safe and I am sure…going about preparations to make certain she is ready to travel. I suggest we all do the same, and then get underway.”

2.

THE PATH GREW steeper, in one or two places so much so, Annabelle began to feel certain she would do worse than embarrass herself. As if the prospect of breaking one’s neck wasn’t bad enough, her dreams had begun this way: with a slip. The others claimed not to remember their dreams, although all agreed a disturbed sleep had been had by all. However, Annabelle recalled too vividly.

They began on a path such as this where her leg buckled and gave way on her. She fell, injuring an arm. An arm that could not be saved, and once they returned to Mars, Nathaniel replaced it with another artificial limb. No matter. She had coped with a replacement leg and in the universe of her dreams, she had learned to cope with the arm. George still loved her.

Then on another mission, she had been pushed from a great height and broke her back.

No matter when Nathaniel was so resourceful as to find the greatest surgeons in the world, and together with his cleverness with technology, they had invented an artificial spine to repair her damaged one. During the many months of waiting, the blood supply to her legs had been hampered and so she had to have both amputated at the thighs. She emerged from her hospital bed with one mechanical arm, two mechanical legs, and a torso through which a skeleton of metal, wires and cogs ran. When she moved she made either a clanking or whirring sound; sometimes both. Her reflexes were hampered and although George still claimed to love her, gradually he found more reasons to be away from the home to which she found herself confined. Nathaniel visited whenever he could, but he was always so busy checking she was in “working order” that she quickly forgot what their friendship prior to her metamorphosis had been like.

Then came the day when she snapped in a fit of pique, rearing out of her chair, awhirl. Her legs moving in strange twitching motions, jerked her across the room, her false arm spinning in a murderous orbit, fingers revolving from the end of her hand like rotating blades. All Nathaniel could say was that he’d have to get that seen to and the next thing she knew Nathaniel lay at her feet, the rug in the drawing room as well as her dress splashed bright red with his life’s fluid.

She could have discounted the dream as comical if it had ended, but there was more. A hideous amount more. Unless she fought to suppress them, these recollections came to her bright with noise, colour, pain and smell. The thing she struggled with most was the scent of her own flesh burning—surgeries in which she had to remain awake while they cut into her with the aid of some strange light that Nathaniel had naturally invented for precision work. He’d lied to her, told her she wouldn’t feel a thing. She could feel. Maybe not as much as she should have, but she felt them slicing her open, and smelt it too. To smell one’s own flesh burning even in a dream stole any merriment she might have gleaned from an otherwise ludicrous vision. Her dream self could feel the sensation of cogs gyrating inside her, rubbing against each other. It was enough to drive a person mad.

Blinking away drops of perspiration, Annabelle clung to a rocky outcrop. She couldn’t risk using a hand to clear her eyes for fear that letting go of the wall might precipitate her falling. It was only a dream. Nathaniel was clever but he wasn’t capable of inventing the things she had seen. No one was. Not…yet. If she fell, she’d die, or be an invalid, but that she could cope with. Anything was better than being that strange creature that clicked and clanked when she walked, who made strange internal whirring noises even as she slept, who grew so despondent she would spill the blood of a friend.

“Need a hand?” Folkard made the offer sound so casual she was already accepting before she disseminated his words. Annabelle almost barked out a laugh, an image of the captain handing over an artificial limb jumping into her mind, and found she had said, “Yes, Captain,” before she could consider whether she did indeed wish his aid. She made it to the next flat level by bracing one hand against the wall, the other around the good captain’s neck and slithering down the last few feet.

“Not the most elegant way to travel, but it is a sound landing,” Folkard declared, having set her on her feet and stepped away. “Let’s hope it’s not much further. I want to get my hands on these blighters causing us such discomfort.”

3.

“HEADCOUNT?” FOLKARD ASKED.

“I count seven…hostiles.” Nathaniel shrugged.

“As good a title for them as any, Professor, and I count the same. Although there could be more elsewhere.” The number of Chaldrites moving below had made the tally difficult.

They sat for some time watching. “Seven of us to seven of them,” Folkard mused.

“I hope you are not counting the ladies.”

Folkard spared Highmore a glance. “If Miss Highmore wishes to be excluded then I amend my calculation to six versus seven.”

“I most certainly do not wish to be excluded!”

“Elizabeth!”

“Keep your voices down,” Folkard ordered.

“Forgive me.” Elizabeth looked between the captain and her brother. “I can shoot.”

“Hunting in the Cotswolds is hardly the same as…”

“You line up your target and fire.” She reached into her outfit and produced a small gun.

“Do not tell me you’ve been carrying that all this time?”

“Honestly, Joseph, what did you expect me to bring with me? Embroidery?”

“Killing a man is quite different from…”

“Putting food on the table?” She looked to the others. “We Highmores have always made it a point to eat what we shoot.” Looking back to her brother, she said; “I dare say it is, and I dare say I will have to spend a great deal of time in church should it prove necessary, but I will protect everyone here if called upon to do so. I will do what I have to do to save Henry’s life. Do not even consider it,” she told him as he made a move as if to take the gun from her. “I would not like to shoot you by accident.”

“Now that little matter is resolved…” Folkard broke off. One of the men from the main group followed a trail to the right. At Folkard’s urging the others shifted along a similar line from on high. The Chaldrites who accompanied them seemed confused by their behaviour, but came quietly. The path below narrowed between two large boulders before widening. Then it led into another tunnel. The entrance could not be viewed by anyone on the other side. If they were careful…

“Should we approach these men, do you think, Captain?” Whitlock asked.

Folkard hesitated. He should lead the watch and possible assault on these men, but violence might not be necessary. Besides, something was calling to him, whispering. He could only recall one fragment of his dreams and it could have been imagination. He saw a black shiny wall, his reflection starring back at him.

“Not under a flag of truce. I suggest we split into two parties, one to keep watch on this group. Approach only if necessary and with your weapons at the ready. The others to follow the man who has wandered off. If there is a greater number here, we need to know. It’s best we know where that man went, and his purpose.”

“Your orders, sah?”

“You will come with me and Professor Stone. The rest of you will remain here. Miss Somerset and Miss Highmore, if a confrontation ensues, I suggest you both hang back. Not because I believe either of you incapable or fear for your safety, but because that will give you the advantage to shoot if necessary. Do not seek to engage with these fellows unless it is unavoidable. We will return as soon as we can. Work together on this. Although Arnaud is in charge, I want you both to press ahead only if you agree.” He looked pointedly at Arnaud and Annabelle. “Joint decisions where possible because none of us can be certain we’re not being influenced by something on Phobos.”

“Yes, Captain.” Annabelle nodded. “What if you locate a greater number of men?”

“We will endeavour to keep a low profile, and return without being seen. Right now I fear being cut off at the rear more than facing what may lie ahead. Come, sirs.”

4.

NATHANIEL TOLD ANNABELLE to take care, and was about to head after Folkard when Arnaud caught hold.

“If Folkard starts to act strangely, punch him on the nose. If that doesn’t work, kiss him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. I am joking. Just…watch him.”

“I will heed the warning.”

“Good. I could not bear anything to happen to you.”

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “An admirable sentiment.” He moved to pull away. Arnaud did not let go. Nathaniel jerked his arm loose. Arnaud looked both puzzled and hurt, but really what was he thinking? Deliberately making a show of turning his back on him, Nathaniel edged along after Folkard and Whitlock.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Nathaniel asked Folkard when they made it to the entrance of the tunnel.

“I’m not sure when we last did anything wise, but this…feels right to me.”

The two men stared at each other for an instant before Nathaniel nodded his consent. He didn’t need an explanation to know that Folkard was being pulled deeper into Phobos.

Chapter Nine

“In Which the Crew go as Deep as Their Minds Allow”

1.

NATHANIEL’S MOST IMMEDIATE fear when he first entered the passageway was that the man ahead would hear them following. Then, as they were taking so much care, that they would lose him if the path branched out. Here the ground was rocky, worn smooth in places, probably from the wandering passage of the creatures’ movements. Neither proved to be a problem. The man started whistling and they were able to quicken their pace. When they did came to an intersection with three paths leading off, the ground had given way to the customary rufous dust they needed to only follow his footsteps, taking care to camouflage their own.

Up until this point, they’d been lucky to have sufficient light reflecting from the lantern of the man in front. They’d turned their own lanterns off. Expecting to follow their target, Nathaniel took a step, only to have Folkard grab his arm and bring him up short. His attention focused on another destination.

“We could take one passage each,” Nathaniel suggested.

Folkard hesitated, “That’s a good idea. Whitlock, follow that man. Observation only. Ascertain numbers, and then return to the others. We’ll investigate elsewhere.” The man, used to obeying orders, saluted and moved off.

Nathaniel was about to ask which tunnel he should take, when Folkard again snagged his sleeve and pulled him to the far right. “We go this way.”

2.

“I THINK WE should go down.” Highmore was getting edgy, and Annabelle could now well understand why Folkard had left Arnaud and her in charge.

“Our orders are to keep watch unless we’ve cause to do otherwise,” she reminded Highmore.

Highmore shot her a look as if to say he didn’t want a woman ordering him around. It was all Annabelle could do not to roll her eyes, but accepted his behaviour could be owing to what she was beginning of think of as The Phobos Effect. Inactivity did indeed appear to make the situation worse. Sitting here…

Annabelle swallowed, looking away from Highmore as if he had cowed her. She felt…small, insignificant, and ineffective. Her logic reasoned something was indeed affecting her; what she couldn’t do was make it stop.

Beside her, one of the Chaldrites made a nervous movement. Maybe these creatures couldn’t communicate in words but they had the ability to notice mood. She didn’t want this disagreement to break out or to upset the creature at her side. Although they were difficult to distinguish, their shells did reflect unique pattern formations. Discerning one from another was still difficult, but this one had a slight chip on the edge of one side of its lower shell. She had called him Notch. Without thinking, Annabelle reached out and stroked the shell where it was damaged, instantly feeling better. “What do you suppose they are doing, Highmore?”

She was sure she knew but including Highmore in her enquiry seemed to calm him as she had hoped it would.

“Mining.”

“Quite, but why and what?”

“Never mind the what. The why…it has to be something they believe is precious, maybe even priceless.” As he looked her way, Highmore glanced at his sister and Annabelle followed his gaze. Elizabeth was helping to keep guard but every so often, her eyelids would flutter, and her head would droop. The poor woman was tired and well she should be. They’d walked for hours and what rest they’d had, had been fraught.

“Men who think they’ve found treasure are dangerous,” Arnaud said.

“All the more reason to subdue them,” Highmore insisted.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” A voice behind them rang out. “Drop your weapons. That includes you, Miss.”

Something hard tapped her in the back of the head and she knew a rifle of some kind was aimed at her skull. Why hadn’t Notch warned her of the approach?

3.

THEY HAD RELIT one lantern, turning it down to minimal to conserve what light they had. Here, the path had become little more than a vertical shaft. Only the fact that such intersections had uneven sides and plenty of outcroppings had prevented Nathaniel from asking Folkard if he knew what he was doing. They could climb out again so he wasn’t concerned should they reach a dead end. This would be difficult in the dark though. If one lantern gave out he’d have to insist Folkard turn back while they could use the other.

“I think we’re almost…”

There? Folkard had indeed stopped moving. They came at last to another passage, this one wider than the last. Folkard stood in the entrance, lantern held out. Light flooded back into the space.

Nathaniel dropped to the floor of the cave, ineffectually brushed himself down, and went to join Folkard.

4.

ELIZABETH WAS MORTIFIED, but no more so than Annabelle. The poor woman had been exhausted and was falling asleep. Annabelle should have done something about it, instead of relying on Elizabeth to keep watch at their backs. So sound asleep had Elizabeth been she hadn’t roused herself or realised anything was wrong until her brother picked her up after shaking her had failed. Even then, she’d not stirred in his arms for several paces.

Now all four of them knelt in front of the ruffians, hands tied behind their backs. The three Chaldrites had made a fuss about this, but the others seemed to be under command of the men and as far as Annabelle had ascertained, a weird argument had ensued. The din had made her long to place her hands over her ears, the noise of what had to be almost one hundred Chaldrites all chittering at once made her think of the sound of a rattlesnake amplified. Why didn’t the Chaldrites help them?

She didn’t want Notch harmed, but his confusion puzzled her. She called out telling Notch to calm down. Although he couldn’t possibly understand her words, he seemed to sense her meaning.

“So the Miss has herself a pet.” The lout who had taken to calling her Miss held his rifle more casually now that they were disarmed and tied. “Which one of you is hers then?”

“Who do you think, you imbecilic fool!” Highmore said before she had even finished the thought whether a ‘husband’ present right now would be a good thing or not. They might treat her a little more respectfully if they thought her husband or even an intended watched; then again, they might use the fact against them. Now that Highmore had declared himself her beloved, she wasn’t about to accuse him of lying. They wouldn’t believe her anyhow. The man with the gun didn’t take kindly to being called a fool. He brought his weapon back as if to brain Highmore with the butt. Another man reached out and stopped him.

“No need for violence. A little outspokenness is understandable. Logically, they’d be upset.”

The accent was American. Could this be…?

“Are you Franklin Miller?” Elizabeth asked, drawing unwanted attention. The man stepped forwards, braced a foot on a rock, and with elbow on knee leaned over. The wild look in his eyes was one Annabelle had begun to recognise. Spend too much time on Phobos and this was how everyone began to look.

“Now who’s the pretty little miss who wants to know?”

“That would be my sister,” Highmore said. Clearly, he hoped laying claim to both women would help keep them safe. While Annabelle doubted it, she appreciated his willingness to try.

Now aware of her danger but showing fortitude, Elizabeth said; “Please, sir, do you know the whereabouts of Henry Barnsdale-Stevens?”

The man straightened. One of the men said; “What is this?” his accent Russian. He went into a short complaint in his native tongue.

“It’s nothing,” Miller said. “And yes, Miss, I do happen to know. Henry Barnsdale-Stevens is dead.”

5.

IMMENSE.

No matter how many times Folkard tried to find another word to explain what he was seeing, that one stood out. Although Phobos was nowhere near the size of Luna, it was large enough to contain at least one immense space in which Chaldrites lived and thrived within their own crystalline city.

Turning his head, Folkard stared first in one direction and then in another, trying to take in what he could see, but the details were so intricate they escaped him. A network, interlinking a complex system of bridges dividing and joining clusters of more solid structures balancing on supports he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Others appeared to spring out from, or adhere to, the walls. The whole thing was built out of the same substance as Highmore’s crystal.

“It’s a glass city,” Folkard whispered, and Nathaniel didn’t bother to correct him.

Where one might imagine sunlight streaming down, this city within the moon appeared to hang in reverse with light streaming up. The upper reaches were only bright because of the reflected radiance. Their meagre lantern light only reached so far and yet there was more effulgence than even the reflected illumination could provide. Leaning out to look down, Folkard managed to ascertain that the brilliance wove its way up through the base, bouncing into infinity, before a wave of vertigo gripped him. Nathaniel reached out to steady him, and Folkard took a step back, needing to look away until it passed. The sight had been so peculiar. Beetles marched along paths below, above, and to the sides, appearing to hang impossibly in mid-air.

“Look there,” Nathaniel said, and Folkard had to force his eyes open. He squinted across to where Nathaniel pointed. Something bright. Part of the monolith. “It leads down.”

As Folkard hurried over, Nathaniel said, “Isn’t it time we made our way back?”

“Yes, but there’s something I have to do first.”

6.

IF ANYONE EXPECTED Elizabeth to fall apart, she surprised them. True, the woman’s lips trembled. Her eyes glistened. She took a deep breath. “How…did Henry die? Why?”

“It matters more to us why you’re here.” Another man from the group spoke, his accent containing a smidgen of Irish.

“What difference does it make to tell her? None of them will leave here alive.”

Although Annabelle expected that, it still came as a shock to hear the American utter it so casually.

“Stevens came here going on about some land he’d bought. Sheer nonsense, of course, but he was making his presence known and noticed a little too much in Parhoon. So I decided that as we needed funds and he seemed to have them, I might as well get good ol’ Henry to join up.”

“That’s Mister Barnsdale-Stevens to you,” Elizabeth interrupted. The American shot her a look but, possibly putting her outburst down to grief he ignored her.

“Once Henry had paid for our supplies, all that we’re likely to require for this trip and a little more besides, it was only a question of bringing him here. The poor chap was practically crying out to tag along. Reminded me of a hound I had afore. Would do whatever idiotic thing I asked of it. So, too, did Henry. He paid bills as if he was expecting to get full value, but he miscalculated. He wasn’t funding his own expedition; just ours.”

Miller stepped back. “Phobos has a rich source of wealth, and as these dumb insects are only too happy to mine for us, I say things are looking up. Of course, we’re not prepared to share this find with anyone, and Henry having seen what we were doing here we couldn’t let him go. Just as we can’t let you go.”

“What precious stones?” Fontaine asked. When the gaze of their captors fell on him, he swallowed giving them a glimpse of his anxiety, but he managed to speak calmly enough. “Forgive me, I am a geologist. I find such things fascinating.”

“Will you find things so fascinating when you’re buried many feet below?”

No one got a chance to ask what he meant. Another man spoke. A wealth of communication in several languages was exchanged. Clearly, what Henry had written was accurate. While not all the men here spoke everyone’s given language, most spoke two or more, and were therefore able to converse with each other by translation.

The last to speak was French and Arnaud clearly understood what he had said before Miller looked at him. “Our friend here thinks a geologist could come in handy, but I don’t see you being too cooperative without an incentive.”

“What incentive would you offer?” Arnaud asked. The barrel of the rifle was shoved next to his head.

“Do as we say or die.”

7.

THE CAVERN BELOW was smaller. It sat below a rocky outcrop, the stairs leading in and under it. The configuration of a curved path led both left and right. The sight before Folkard and Nathaniel temporarily paralysed both men. Before them stood a metal wall.

When they’d finally found Doctor Grant on Luna and he had told them of the living Heart, that he could commune with it, they had all thought him mad, but they had found a cavern similar to this. They’d eventually come to believe in the presence, accepted that the glow it gave off could well be a form of communication. As the glow could be seen from beyond Luna, they had wondered whether it communicated with something else in the universe. It was feasible that it had been trying to communicate with Phobos, if another Heart existed here, although that still left the question of why. Though if not Phobos, then what else?

8.

“I DO AS YOU say and then you’ll kill me anyway.”

“True, but you can die later and therefore live in hope or die now.”

Afraid Arnaud might say something to make the man pull the trigger, Annabelle said; “Please, Arnaud. Do as they say.”

“And what of your fate?”

“I can shoot them instead of you, one by one until you do cooperate, or I can let them follow Henry’s footsteps.”

Elizabeth looked up. “You said he was dead.”

Miller shrugged. “He may well be. If he isn’t, he’ll not survive forever.”

“Then there is hope?”

The men laughed. “If you can find hope in a fistful of dust, maybe, yes.” Miller turned back to Arnaud. “You say you’re a geologist. Tell us what we have here.” He cocked his head and two of the men lifted Arnaud to his feet, untying his hands. They pushed him so that he stumbled. Notch hissed. Annabelle had never heard one of these creatures hiss before. A few of the other creatures hissed back.

“I’d like to shoot that one,” Miller said, “only I don’t know how kindly the others will take it. But I’ll test the theory if you don’t keep it quiet.”

Annabelle wasn’t quite sure how she was meant to do that. She did the best she could, leaning against the beetle, speaking nonsensical but soothing words. Right away she felt better. It wasn’t her imagination. Proximity to the beetles calmed her, lessened the effects of the moon. It was probably the only reason these men hadn’t gone entirely mad and turned on each other.

“Take a gander.” Miller tossed Arnaud a rock, which he caught. Arnaud examined the same formation as the rock Highmore had brought on board. The creatures weren’t so much mining them, as gathering the pieces that lay in abundance on the ground, digging out pieces that lay buried.

“Without equipment…” Arnaud spread his hands as if to say he was helpless.

“Yes, yes, but you can guess.”

Arnaud stared down at the misshaped lump. “What do you think it is?”

“Raw diamonds, of course.” The men grinned at each other. Did they truly want to know what Arnaud thought or were they simply having fun, flouting their supposedly newfound wealth?

“That’s one thing it definitely isn’t.”

“No?” Miller’s voice hardened.

“Non.”

The Russian spoke again. Miller looked at him, listening, winced a little, seemed thoughtful and then said; “He says he’ll make your death singularly painful.”

“Arnaud, please, tell him the truth,” Annabelle said. Tell him what he wants to hear.

“Un moment. It is not diamond, but that does not mean it is completely worthless. It is semi-precious rather than precious. Normally I would say not worth the effort, but in this quantity…” Again, he spread his hands.

“We’d still be wealthy men?”

“Oui.”

“Well, all right!” The tone changed; their grins returned.

9.

“THE SAME AND yet…different.” Folkard kept saying that. It was beginning to get on Nathaniel’s nerves.

“Is it a living Heart, Folkard?” He repeated the question a third time.

Folkard replied, but sounded dazed. “Oh…no. That is, I sense nothing living and yet…I do.”

“Captain, you’re making no sense.”

Doctor Grant had also told them that the Heart had created the Selenites, the giant ant-like beings who worshipped the Heart as some type of god, and why not when it was their creator. If there was a similar Heart here, it was likely responsible for creation of the Chaldrites, and confirmed his suppositions.

The captain could easily deduce all this, as would the others the moment he told them…but right now it was all speculation, though logical. “Folkard?”

Folkard wandered back and forth, hands touching the wall. “Life but not. Life but not.”

10.

“SO WHAT ARE you planning to do?” Arnaud asked. “Rape this world of its resources and move on?” For now, he was back on his knees next to his friends, hands tied behind his back.

“Basically.”

“It could take you months, years. To finance the movement of the…stones alone…”

“But that’s the good part. The extraction will be self-financing as soon as I exchange a few of these babies for cash.” Miller rolled one of the crystals in his fist.

“If you can find someone to buy them.”

“We will…eventually.”

They just might. Arnaud didn’t believe the stones held any true value, although why he couldn’t say. Call it a gut instinct. Someone would likely find them pretty and if they could be cut and polished, perhaps they were as good as finding semi-precious gems. “It’s risky. People will eventually ask questions.”

“If we peddle too many on Mars, of course they will, but if we can raise enough cash to get a bigger ship, why our plans are to take these to Earth. We might even take some of these buggers along.” Miller gestured at the beetles.

“What for?” Annabelle asked.

“Don’t like that idea, do you? They seem to make good labourers. They could be worth something for that alone.”

“Slaves?” Could Annabelle sound any more outraged? “You’ll never get away with it.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe we’ll keep it on the hush, keep them as a workforce for ourselves. Become real entrepreneurs.” Miller grinned.

“They’re harmless and placid. You should leave them be. You have no idea what Earth will do to them. Gravity could play a major…”

“Well, we’ll just have to take one or two along to find out. Please, Miss, it’s time for you to be quiet now.” The Russian came over and whispered something in Miller’s ear. “Speaking of gravity, my friend here wants to know how you got here. We presume another flyer. If that’s so then maybe we already have the ship we’ve been looking for.”

There was no use denying it. It was a wonder they hadn’t asked before.

“Left it manned and guarded, have we? No need to answer that. Of course, you have. Well, we’ll sort it out later.”

Arnaud spared a thought for Burton looking after their suits and Carter alone on the ship.

“We noticed you left no one on your ship. Kind of foolish don’t you think?” Highmore said. Miller stepped up and rapped the unfortunate man with the butt of his rifle. Highmore let out a groan as he slumped over. Elizabeth closed her eyes and bit her lip.

When it looked as if Miller would hit Highmore again, Arnaud distracted him; “How do you move the stones to the surface?”

“We load up one of our pack-horses.” Miller moved as if to touch one of the beetles, but then pulled his hand away.

“When do these creatures get a break?” Annabelle asked.

“They don’t.”

“What do you mean, they don’t?”

“Strange thing about these beasts. They seem happy to work without rest until they cannot work anymore.”

“Without rest and therefore mercy. You can’t have them work themselves to death.”

“Can we not? We’ve had two expire on us.” Miller picked up a piece of rainbow-streaked shell. “Not as fancy as these stones, I grant you, but what do you think?” He turned his attention on Arnaud. “What if we put a polisher to this?”

“I…don’t know. It may be possible to make something from the shell.”

Annabelle glared at him. Arnaud shrugged. What could he say? One more lie from him and Miller might shoot them all here and now. The man wasn’t wrong: where there was life, there was hope.

“So you see, Miss. The beasts are good to us dead.”

“Let them rest. Let them rest when you do. You must take breaks.”

“We sleep when we need to. And not many of us are too keen on sleeping here.”

“Bad dreams?” Arnaud struggled to hide his smile. He didn’t even see the blow. His head reeled. He spat out a mouthful of blood from a split lip at about the same time as his senses cleared. The only good thing was that it had been little more than a tap. He stared at Miller and Miller stared back. This was not the time to show weakness.

“Of course, we’re left with the question,” Miller said, “of who you people are.”

“We told you, we are in search of one man.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t explain why you have a flyer capable of landing in low gravity.”

“Or you! Where did your flyer come from?” Annabelle snapped.

Miller studied her for a moment before shrugging. “Russian black market. It’s amazing what one can find for sale. Let’s say you are looking for just one man. What is he to you, and how can you afford a flyer you didn’t come by…dishonestly?” He looked from one face to another.

“I paid for it,” Highmore declared. A bruise was forming on his temple, but he had rallied. “The black market in England goes by another name and it’s called society. If you have the money for it, you can obtain almost anything.”

“True,” Miller admitted. “Still doesn’t answer why.”

“The missing man is my fiancé,” Elizabeth declared, her gaze defiant.

“So we have husband, a wife, the husband’s sister and her missing fiancé, and…you.” He looked to Arnaud.

“Just hired help,” Highmore said.

“And I presume men on your ship. All of which you paid for?”

After a hesitation, Highmore nodded.

“You can afford all that? You must be quite wealthy.”

“I am. I can pay you a ransom…for our lives.”

“I’m sure you could, and I’ll take it under consideration. Maybe we’ll swap you with the geologist and cast him down into the…” Miller stopped. He grinned, shook his head, then turned away as one of the other men came up to him. Heads lowered, they conversed.

Cast them down? A pit of some kind? That didn’t sound promising.

“Arnaud,” Annabelle whispered. “Why do you suppose these creatures are so happy to work? It’s puzzling.”

“That it is, and if there is an answer, I am not the man who possesses it.” He stared at her wishing the thought into her head. A moment later, she nodded. If anyone could figure out what was going on it would be Nathaniel. Would they return before these men decided what to do with them? Were three men enough to constitute a rescue? Just where were the others?

11.

NATHANIEL LEFT FOLKARD in what appeared to be a trancelike state. He didn’t want to but decided a quick investigation of the corridor encircling the Heart was in order. If this was indeed a Heart, the cavern was much smaller than its counterpart on Luna. Here, the roof was at most twelve feet above him. The other difference was that this space smelt like an animal’s den.

Climbing through one of the openings into the second tunnel, Nathaniel found himself in a smaller, rectangular, empty chamber. Unable to glean its function or if it even had one, he withdrew to the corridor. At intervals, he crawled through or, with care, poked his head into a selection of these chambers, but they were all so alike he soon gave up. Most were blocked off from each other. All had some form of opening linking the corridor to the space beyond but not all the openings were accessible. Some were too small to do more than peer through. He put them out of his mind for now. They weren’t what he was looking for.

Nathaniel came to a halt at the foot of the monolith and stared. Only a small portion of it could be seen here, but it was close to the Heart. The monolith was important. It was the secret behind Phobos…

“Professor.”

“Hmm?” So lost was he in the studying of it, for a moment it didn’t dawn Folkard had spoken. Turning, Nathaniel blinked, only then realising how long he’d been staring at this thing. What had just happened?

“You’re standing there pretty much mesmerised as I think I was at the wall. I believe…we need to get out of here, at least until we’ve checked on the others and formed a plan.” The captain was rubbing his hands; clearly, his skin itched again.

“Yes.” He fell into step behind Folkard, only looking back once. Did the edifice have its own defences?

Chapter Ten

“In Which Arnaud Admits He Prefers to

Live a Life That Isn’t Three Parts Dead”

1.

“DID YOU MANAGE to learn anything from your investigation, Professor?”

They’d climbed in silence and were almost back at the intersection where they’d come across the three connecting tunnels. Having taken almost twice as long to make their way up as down, it was difficult to assess the passage of time.

“I believe so. The monolith is undoubtedly some form of technology, and I might have worked out how to activate it, although to what ends, I cannot yet say. I also believe…”

The ground trembled; a vibration felt though the soles of their feet.

“Earthquake?” Although Folkard asked, the man’s tone suggested that the captain no more believed that than Nathaniel did.

“Unlikely. It…” Another rumble, this time closer. Nathaniel had to cling to the wall. He had no clue as to what might be causing seismic activity. When the movement ceased, he said; “I suggest we hurry.”

Folkard agreed and they quickened their pace. They’d not taken more than a hundred steps when they came to the entrance of the tunnel. From here they would have to turn right, and walk another two hundred feet to reach the intersection. They were about to step out when the ground heaved so violently, they barely kept to their feet. Both were staring at the mouth of the tunnel when a large claw-like protuberance gripped the edge. The claw was followed by…Nathaniel knew not what but his first thought was of a long sausage shape of golden fur. The impression lasted as the creature moved swiftly by. Then it was gone. The air and dust, disturbed by its passing, settled. Rumbles continued but they were gradually moving away, deeper into the moon.

“How large was that thing?”

Not expecting Folkard’s first exclamation to be one concerning size, Nathaniel took a moment to reply. “I cannot say with any great accuracy. Fifty, sixty feet?”

“I did see it then?”

“Of course, Captain.” Nathaniel stared at the man. Why would he think he was seeing things? “And it backs up my supposition. If the scarab-like drawing represents the Chaldrites, then it makes sense the other shapes are also life forms. The Chaldrites are not the only creatures on Phobos.”

Folkard’s hand flashed out, grabbing him by his collar, dragging him close. The captain’s eyes were wide and wild. Nathaniel wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see Folkard’s eyes roll up into his head to show the whites only, or for flecks of foam to spit from the man’s mouth. “I’m an idiot, Stone. That’s what I’ve been sensing all along!”

“Sensing?”

“I thought it was minerals only, and for all I know there may be minerals here, but it’s that…creature. Even before we arrived I felt something slipping and sliding, and with it my mind. It’s tunnelling. It accounts for the strip-mining we’ve seen. It’s the creature’s movements I’ve been sensing.”

“I have no cause to doubt you. The question is why.”

Beads of sweat dewed Folkard’s forehead, but even as Nathaniel watched, the wild look faded. “Why? Yes, why?” He released Nathaniel, straightened. “Forgive me. It’s as if the last few days, I’ve been…haunted.”

“I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this. We just need time.”

They stepped out into the intersection moving courteously.

“Sir?”

Folkard jerked up his weapon, lowering it when crewman Whitlock emerged from behind a rock. “Report?”

“The rest of the team have been taken hostage, sir. I hid as they passed me in the tunnels, sir. Thought it best I advise you and not tackle them alone.”

Arnaud? Annabelle? While Nathaniel was concerned with the fate of the rest, he couldn’t help his mind flashing to those members of the crew most important to him.

“Alive?” Folkard asked.

“For now, I believe so, sir.”

As Nathaniel joined him, something moved. One of the ‘rocks’ reared up.

“This is…” The crewman looked at the Chaldrite, frowning. “Well, I believe Miss Somerset had taken to calling him Notch. It…he was waiting for us. I…think he’s upset, sirs.”

“Then Notch may join us. Give us your full report.”

2.

“I AM SURE Nathaniel and the good Captain will be fine.”

Arnaud turned his gaze upon Annabelle, confusion written on his face. “I miss George,” she added. When she didn’t look away or blink, Arnaud sighed.

“I sometimes think life without love is easier.”

“Easier, maybe. Advantageous, I think not. To fear loving, one may as well be afraid of living, and I for one refuse to be a coward.”

“I do not argue. To deny oneself love is to live only a quarter of one’s life. I would prefer to live more eloquently.” Arnaud smiled.

After a few moments of silence, Annabelle added; “We will see Nathaniel again.” She had to believe that. For, if they could not hope to see Nathaniel again, she could not hope to a reunion with George.

3.

WHITLOCK DESCRIBED ANOTHER cavern, some sort of base camp that lay amidst a network of tunnels. He’d been making his way back when he heard voices and ducked into a small recess, remaining there as their people were forced by.

“When Miss Somerset fell to her knees, they wouldn’t let anyone help her and made her get up by herself, sir. These are no gentlemen.”

Folkard had to curb his anger.

“Sometime later, the men returned with Doctor Fontaine, but of the others, there was no sign.”

“You heard no screams? No one cried out?” Nathaniel asked.

“No, sir. And the doctor seemed more annoyed than anything, though upset. Just not overly so.”

“Then we can only guess and hope that the others remain alive, for now. Very well.” Folkard took a deep breath. “Describe the layout of their camp to me. I suggest our first priority is to rescue Fontaine.”

4.

THE ONLY REASON Arnaud hadn’t fought or argued when left on a camp bed with his hands tied behind his back, was he reasoned he at least knew where the others were and how to reach them. While he tried to formulate a plan, exhaustion crept up on him. He awoke to find he had either lain down or keeled over at some point. He lay with the side of the canvas bed pressing painfully into his left knee. His whole body felt stiff and sore, his left arm numb.

Something had awoken him but he knew not what. Something at once soft in places, furry in others brushed over Arnaud’s hands.

Jolting, he made the bed creak, and at once looked across the camp. The single guard had also fallen asleep, hat tipped over his eyes. The sensation of something pushing at his wrists, scraping Arnaud’s skin grew worse. All manner of monstrosities came to mind. Sweat broke out on his brow. If he’d not spied Folkard and Whitlock moving into the camp from an opening across the way, he might have cried out.

“No time to explain,” Nathaniel said from behind him even as the ropes parted. Glancing back, he saw one of the Chaldrites had used its pincers to cut him free. Notch?

Folkard approached. He tossed a rock aside. Beyond, the man in the bed lay slumped. “Sorry to brain the chap but no time for finesse. Where are our people?”

“I’ll…take you to them.” Arnaud tried to take a few steps only to discover that he needed help. He leaned on Nathaniel as they made their way out of the cavern, moaning softly at the onset of pins and needles.

5.

“THEY’RE DOWN THERE, I tell you!” Arnaud gave the platform an ineffectual shake. The mechanism looked old, worn. He would have sworn it was metal gone rusty when he’d first seen it, only it didn’t feel that way to the touch. It was all locked up, a bar, chains…Folkard put out a hand to stop him from shaking it again as frustration got the better of him.

“You are making noise, and I’m not sure I would trust it in any circumstances.”

“It worked, though. They lowered our people down there on this.”

Down there was over the edge of a precipice. Only a few rocky outcrops could be seen on the other side. What sufficed for light here faded into nothingness a few feet down. The view was of a gaping maw.

“It took awhile for it to reach the base and for them to bring it back up.”

The captain pursed his lips. “I did not brain your guard sufficiently to keep him unconscious for long. When he comes to, as far as he will know you somehow slipped your bonds. They may not make too great an effort to locate a single man whom they believe may become lost in these caves. A rescue mission, however, would be a different thing. We need to move.”

“But…” How could they leave their people behind?

“We will return for them, I guarantee you.”

Chapter Eleven

“In Which Many Discover the Basis of Optimism”

1.

BY THE TIME Annabelle and Highmore stepped off the platform it was as witnesses to a tearful reunion.

Elizabeth seemed locked in an embrace that would never end. Every so often, she and a man would break free of the fierce hug to look into each other’s eyes. Tears of what Annabelle presumed were joy ran freely down Elizabeth’s face; her smile was a beam in the darkness.

A soft luminosity emanated from the walls, sufficient to see though not to dispel the gloom. The impression was of a rippling stone floor, with a jagged rock face on either side, leading in both directions into blackness.

As Henry at last took notice of the others, Highmore stepped up. They shook hands. The British. So formal. Annabelle thought of Arnaud’s reaction if this had been Nathaniel, and smiled.

“You came looking for me?” Henry looked from Joseph to Elizabeth and back again. “Both of you? But how… And who…?” He looked to Annabelle.

“Permit me to make introductions, and then you can tell us how you’ve endured.” Highmore’s glance up and down Henry’s frame did not go unnoticed. The man had no shoes. The edges of his clothes were frayed. Although Annabelle had never seen him before she guessed he had lost weight…and he had that same mad gleam in his eyes that she had enough sense to dislike.

“And what of Carstairs?” Elizabeth gasped out, clearly realising she had not enquired after the man.

“He’s alive. Hurt, but alive. And I can show you how we’ve survived.”

2.

“I’VE BEEN SUCH an idiot,” Nathaniel said, echoing Folkard’s earlier words as the four men marched along, Notch scurrying at their heels. Now that there was no hope of immediately rescuing the others, and there was at least a good chance they were safe for now, Nathaniel had decided to take another look at the technology. Arnaud’s strongest desire was to rescue their comrades, and Folkard was far from convinced they would find the answers they needed at the base of the monolith.

He looked at the captain. “When you called me from my trance, it crossed my mind the edifice might have a defence mechanism.”

“One that interferes with our emotions? That might explain at least some of our reactions.”

“Yes, and I’m not prepared to dismiss that theory entirely, but I don’t think it’s the only possible cause.” Nathaniel flicked a glance at Whitlock who wasn’t privileged to all their knowledge. “You were the one to discover many of the secrets on Luna. You said you didn’t think there were coincidences. The Chaldrites and Drobates are depicted on the monolith and so is that other creature. The monolith has to be the font of knowledge for this place; it has to be. If we can understand it, maybe we can understand the purpose of the creatures that exist here. Maybe then we can find a way to…I don’t know, track it.”

“And be the bait? Even if we lure it, how will we communicate? How can it help us?” Folkard’s doubt was understandable.

They were going to think him mad. “If we cannot get to the others from above, we must tunnel through.”

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wish to enlist this…creature to tunnel through to the others for you?” Arnaud was looking at them as if they were out of their minds, and that was to say nothing of Whitlock’s expression.

“I know how it sounds.”

“Non, I do not think you do.”

“Yet it…feels right. Doctor Fontaine, Corporal Whitlock,” Folkard included the other man with a respectful nod. “I am aware Professor Stone has explained that on Luna I did some things I am not…proud of, but which I knew were right. I simply knew. I feel something like that is happening here, now, but to all of us. Why, I cannot say. Do any of you particularly disagree with Stone’s plan?” When neither man replied, either out of duty, politeness, or an inability to suggest anything better, Folkard said; “Stone, if we’re wrong…I don’t want you blaming yourself for the mistake. This is my decision. I’m the one responsible.”

“Thank you for that, Captain, but it’s my cross to bear.”

“Non.” Arnaud shook his head. “I agree with you, and the captain has taken our word. We three are all equally responsible.”

“I am in charge, and if I did not agree we would not be doing this. I have my doubts, but, Professor, I do not believe you would do anything to put Miss Annabelle in jeopardy, so either deep down you are sure, or you are being influenced. In neither case can I blame you. Still, I suggest we shelve the mutual condemnation party, sirs, until this fails.”

“It won’t fail,” Nathaniel said, facing ahead. “It mustn’t.”

3.

ALTHOUGH ANNABELLE FOUND Henry Barnsdale-Stevens to be a thoroughly likeable chap, she had no reason to trust him. He had got himself into a bit of a scrap. So had she. So had they all. Nevertheless, she had not crossed the aether with nothing more than a gentleman’s gentleman for company to team up with a group of disreputable entrepreneurs. She could at last see what Joseph Highmore meant when he said Henry didn’t stop to think. Therefore, she found it quite difficult to put her faith in Henry as their guide when the gloom intensified and she found herself walking in darkness so pitch, it crossed her mind that this must be what it felt like to be buried alive. The cavern might be large but was essentially one vast coffin.

Refusing to panic, Annabelle soldiered on, wishing for George, or Nathaniel, even Arnaud or Folkard at her side. These people were all very well, but she wanted her dearest friends. The situation was too akin to a feeling she could recall of being a girl alone among savages. She had learned by experience how a tribe could be close knit, put the needs of their own group above the well-being of others, even to the point of ruthlessness.

She had thought herself above that, but now thinking of the others, wondering what had become of them, if she had to choose…

“How do you know where you are going?” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the sound of their breathing, the occasional cough, and the shuffle of their feet.

As well as Annabelle’s despondent thoughts.

She closed her eyes, her vision doing her little good anyway, and swallowed against the onset of tears. Phobos seemed to have given up tormenting her in one way and now appeared to want to assail her in others. She would not succumb. She would not.

“When you’ve been down here a long time, Elizabeth, your sight seems to adjust. Besides, I know the way.”

The way led out into a larger cavern where once again soft radiance issued from the walls.

“Carstairs, we have guests,” Henry called out to a man propped against one wall.

“Carstairs!” Elizabeth rushed to his side and knelt. Joseph approached more sedately.

“Can’t say I’m glad to see you, Miss. Sir.” Carstairs nodded to them in turn. His words were followed by a fit of coughing. “Or any of you; not down here. I’d rise if I could.” He shifted and winced. Highmore waved a hand.

“Do not your stress yourself. This place is hardly suited to the best of etiquette.”

Henry had already explained that Carstairs had broken an ankle, and while Miller had allowed one of his men to set it, they had abandoned both of them. Since then, Carstairs’ health had deteriorated. Annabelle didn’t like the sound of that cough; far too wet.

“Only decent thing that blighter has done,” Carstairs said, “giving me something for the pain. Of course, he caused the injury in the first place.”

“A guilty conscious, no doubt,” Elizabeth chimed in.

“Not sure the man has one,” Carstairs mumbled. “Probably his way of prolonging the inevitable. Begging your pardon, Miss; I think I would have given up long ago if it were not for my duty to Henry, and that it be against God.”

“Forgive my lapse. I will fetch some water and prepare…something of a meal.”

No one questioned Henry’s announcement of a water source. The men would hardly have been able to survive without it. “I’ll help.” Annabelle volunteered before she stopped to think. She bit at her lip and stared at Elizabeth, hoping her expression displayed her contrition. “That is…”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Let us both help.”

“I can fetch and carry,” Highmore offered.

“Let all four of us do so. My dear ladies, I would not presume to have you lugging water, but I would appreciate good company.”

4.

“THEY GAVE YOU supplies?” Annabelle stared at the two buckets standing under the meagre flow of water that seemed to seep out of and run down the wall. The buckets collected the drips, but she could see it would take some time to fill each.

“They gave us buckets and blankets, a couple of cups. Not what I would call supplies, but it has served to keep us alive. We tried sleeping here at first.” Henry gestured to the surrounding area. “But the blankets grew sodden. At least the water seems clean. I was afraid we would grow sick on it, but having no choice…” He shrugged.

“You’ve done so well,” Elizabeth said, patently trying to buoy Henry’s optimism. Oddly, Annabelle had found a strange acceptance in the idea that she might expire; with it came a type of liberation. Whatever caused The Phobos Effect, Annabelle felt somewhat immune. She couldn’t see how their situation could worsen, and there was some freedom in that.

“I agree with Miss Elizabeth. Many a man would have succumbed by now.”

“Thank you, Joseph. It’s…difficult not to despair. When we heard the platform in use, we had hoped…” Henry laughed. “Foolish of us to think our captors would also choose to be our rescuers. Yet we cannot fathom why they have kept us alive if not for some purpose other than some cruel joke.”

Annabelle thought she had the answer. “I surmise they were uncertain, not much caring whether you lived or died, but open to the possibility that you might yet prove useful. And they may feel the same regarding our own incarceration.”

“Unfortunately, that makes sense, Annabelle,” Elizabeth said.

Annabelle nodded. “I propose we don’t give them the chance.”

“Escape, Miss Somerset?” Henry seemed aghast, as if she were leading Elizabeth astray.

“Indeed, and please, call me Annabelle.” She did her best not to look at Highmore as she made the offer.

Henry returned Annabelle’s smile. “It…does seem rather pointless to stand on ceremony down here. As for escape, do you think I’ve not tried to find a way out of this abyss?”

“I know you have. Begging your pardon, you’ve been one man hampered with an injured companion.”

“True. I’ve explored as far as I can, but I haven’t been able to leave Carstairs for more than a few hours. Carstairs is a royal pain in my seat, but he’s my pain, and I’d not leave him.”

“You’re no longer alone, Henry.” Smiling, Henry patted the hand Elizabeth placed on his arm.

“And we’ll work into getting everyone out of here,” Highmore declared.

Wishing she could feel as certain, Annabelle gave way to her tiredness, leaning back against the wall, starting with a gasp when something moved.

“Take no notice of those…Annabelle.” Henry was at once at her side. “They’re perfectly harmless. Reminds me of a sea spider, an arthropod often found in Mediterranean and Caribbean Seas, also the Antarctic or Arctic Oceans. None of the known species I’ve seen recorded look exactly like these, but they are decidedly similar. They’re plentiful here. Easy to catch. Taste pretty good, too.”

“Taste?” Annabelle stared at the creature now scuttling vertically up the wall. The shell was pink and white. Her mind flashed back to the meal the Chaldrites had provided.

“How do you cook them?” Elizabeth asked.

Henry looked at her. “I’m sorry, my dear. You don’t. They’re not bad. Tastes a little like chicken.”

Apparently, what Annabelle had already worked out made itself apparent to Elizabeth. Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped. Henry frowned.

“The Chaldrites gave us a meal of them.” Annabelle explained. “We didn’t realise we were eating them raw, although we should have worked out that the Chaldrites wouldn’t know how to cook.”

“Chaldrites?”

“The giant beetles.”

“Is that what they’re called? How did you…”

Clearly, Henry was eager to discover what else they had learned, but stopped when Highmore spoke.

“Try not to fret so, Elizabeth. They tasted quite good when we didn’t know.”

“I’ll well aware of that, Joseph. It just…came as a surprise.” Elizabeth placed a hand over her stomach.

“If you’re going to be ill…”

“I’m going to be no such thing. Brother, don’t fuss over me so. Please, carry one of these pails back to Carstairs. See if we can do anything more to make the poor man comfortable. We’ll follow with the other and…dinner.”

“As you wish.” Highmore, taking one of the buckets, walked away.

“He’s always fretted over me so.” Elizabeth complained. “Between him and Whitlock it can be stifling, and I’m unsure whether Whitlock isn’t even worse.”

“Hardly surprising,” Henry declared.

“Not sure I understand.”

Henry laughed. “Why the good man loves you, my dear.”

“That…cannot be.”

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“He’s a…common soldier, and our servant.”

“Love has no barriers, Elizabeth.”

“Are you not angry with him?”

“For what? Taking care of you? Has he ever done anything inappropriate?”

“Well…no.”

“There you are then.” Henry moved in front of her. “My dear, I appreciate anyone who has seen to your safety. I can hardly blame anyone for loving you when I see so much to love myself. If you should love someone else, my sweet Elizabeth, I would not stand in your way.”

“Why, Henry, what are you saying?”

“Just that…I am never going to change.”

An unfortunate witness to this outpouring of devotion, Annabelle took to studying one of the sea spiders. She could see what Henry meant by their being easy to catch. She had put several feet between herself and the lovers, but the formation of the cave sent whispers to her ears.

“I am quite the adventurer it seems.”

“My dear Henry; I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“We are perfectly suited then, and…I say.” Henry broke off suddenly. “Did you feel that?”

5.

THEY BELIEVED THEY reached a problem when they had to climb down through the rocks. Notch wasn’t going to be able to accompany them, and they weren’t sure the Chaldrite would take kindly to being left behind. They needn’t have worried. Although they had to push him in one place and feared the rock would scrape his shell, for the most part the Chaldrite was quite capable of adhering to the surface, just as any insect on earth. Clearly, their shells were tough and it begged the questions what force had caused the chip in Notch’s carapace.

They had warned both Arnaud and Whitlock about the crystal city, so although both were suitably awed, they were able to hurry them along. Clearly, the city was no surprise to Notch who seemed to find their fascination curious.

They left Whitlock at the entrance at the base and moved along the corridor. Folkard hesitated at the metal wall, but Nathaniel urged him along.

“These are the…chambers, you described?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Do you mind if I…?” Arnaud disappeared into one of the chambers without waiting for permission. Folkard shook his head but kept walking. Although torn, Nathaniel could not abandon his mission for the sake of Arnaud’s curiosity, especially when he could see no immediate danger, so continued to the base of the monolith. A simple examination revealed nothing useful.

“Folkard?” Nathaniel had hoped Folkard would sense something.

“I’m not…sure.”

They were still investigating when Arnaud joined them. At his glance, Nathaniel shook his head.

“This is the creature you both saw?” Arnaud examined the creatures on the monolith. When both confirmed, he said, “Looks like a mole.”

Now that Arnaud mentioned it, Nathaniel saw the resemblance.

“By the way, gentlemen.” Folkard waited until they were both looking at him. “The creature is nearby. I believe it is sleeping.”

“You know that?”

There was no reply. Folkard approached, held his hands out a few inches from the surface.

“This is similar to what you saw above?” Arnaud whispered when Folkard failed to perform a miracle.

“Yes, though on smaller scale and not all the markings above are on this portion, though many are duplicated.”

“It looks like a family tree.”

Nathaniel glanced at the layout of the symbols. “Yes. A hierarchy. The…” He shrugged. “The mole is at the top of this middle segment, what we presume to be Chaldrites second. These two, I have no idea what they represent. This.” Nathaniel pointed to the last of the five top figures. “It resembles a starfish. The things we ate?”

“I hate to agree but oui. And reason dictates a food chain.”

“A food chain? Not a hierarchy?”

“Maybe both.”

The top most one was a humanoid shape. A head and four limbs, what appeared to be two arms and two legs. Beneath it a circle.

“The head…” Arnaud hesitated, searching for a word. “Sachem?”

“Maybe. Tribe leader is as good a hypothesis as any.”

“Bien je jamais.” Arnaud looked at Nathaniel when he raised an eyebrow. “Annabelle, she wondered why the Chaldrites were so eager to attend to us, why they followed the other men as well as us and seemed upset over our altercation. This could explain why.”

“They think this symbol depicts man?”

“As good a reasoning as any.” Arnaud glanced at Notch, lowering his voice, despite the beetle’s lack of understanding. “They may think we are something we are not.”

“Quite, but I believe these are Drobates, though your theory holds. The beetles indeed mistook the two arms and two legs as representing man.”

“This is broken.” Folkard rejoined the conversation making both Nathaniel and Arnaud jump. Even as they looked at him, Folkard laid his hands on the third and final part of the monolith, the display of symbols. The monolith coming to life made them leap away.

6.

“WHAT IS THAT?” Highmore clutched at his head as if he experienced the onset of a headache.

Annabelle closed her eyes; she felt strangely nauseous. Maybe spiny moon spider didn’t agree with her.

“I’ve been here more weeks than I care to count,” Henry said. “I’ve never felt this before.”

“Headache?”

“No.” Henry answered Joseph’s question even as Elizabeth said, “Yes.”

“Ill. I feel ill.” Annabelle barely managed to get the words out through gritted teeth. She feared if she opened her mouth, she might be sick.

“Dizzy.” This was from Henry. So they were all experiencing different things.

7.

“I’M NOT EVEN going to try to guess what powers this thing.” Nathaniel lay on his side staring into the inner workings of moving cogs and threads of light. Nathaniel knew of no other means to describe the filaments, they being a form of technology way beyond his comprehension. When Folkard had said it wouldn’t burn, Nathaniel hadn’t bothered asking how he knew, just turned his attention to the…shining wires. They felt slightly fibrous, gave off light but no heat. The light from the panel stuttered in comparison. “I see what’s wrong. It’s so simple. Some of these gears have slipped out of alignment.”

“You can repair?”

“Oui. I mean yes.” When Nathaniel looked up, he saw Arnaud grinning down at him for his slip into French.

Chapter Twelve

“In Which Some May Question Whether This is the Best All Worlds”

1.

“IF I COULD only…reach.” Nathaniel cursed. While he lay there expecting a jolt of power that might well fry him, he attempted to align the last cog. Despite his patience and sensitive touch, it just refused to slip into place, the task made more difficult by his weak wrist.

“Erm…Nathaniel.”

“Not now, Arnaud. This…requires…delicacy.” Nathaniel reached deeper, the strain of over-stretching making a muscle pop in his side. “Damn!” The cog slipped again and Nathaniel had to give up the attempt in order to catch his breath. He rubbed his wrist, which had begun to tremble.

“Nathaniel.”

Maybe if he tried another angle.

“Mon toujours!”

Something in Arnaud’s voice accompanied by a hissing from Notch indicated urgency. Nathaniel pushed away from the monolith, looked to where Arnaud was staring. He’d previously noted the large opening of sufficient size that it would only require a step up and a stoop to slip through to the bottom of the crystal city. Now, something blocked the light. At first, Nathaniel thought it was Folkard, then he got a clearer view.

The captain stood swaying. Before him, the burrowing creature reared up. The fur was indeed golden, with a silky appearance. Its snout and paws, or claws, for that was the shape of its forequarters, were of the same pale skin. Though pale, the epidermis was clearly tough like the pads on an animal’s feet.

At least there was something of a barrier between Folkard and the creature, although if it decided to strike, it could probably bring the entire ceiling down.

“Try talking to him.”

“I have.”

Had he been that engrossed he had failed to hear Arnaud speaking to the captain? “Arnaud, swap places with me. Lie down. Look in there. Can you see the cog, the third one from the back, out of alignment?”

“No. Wait. Yes. Got it.”

“Try to put it back.”

“Give me the simple job,” Arnaud muttered.

Hoping he hadn’t just made a mistake and that Arnaud might have better luck and wouldn’t be hurt, Nathaniel turned his attention to Folkard. The man stood rigid, gaze intent yet unfocused, his lower lip a little slack.

“Captain. We could be in danger. I need you to snap out of this.” Nathaniel glanced at the creature, positive he could feel it gazing back, although it appeared to have no eyes. It didn’t seem aggressive, but how could one tell? Notch didn’t like it, but if the beetle was on this thing’s menu, Nathaniel could understand why. “Jacob?”

“Got it!” Arnaud’s triumph rang out even as the sound of power revving up vibrated throughout the corridor. If he’d known Arnaud would have success where he had struggled for so long, he’d have asked him to do it sooner. He didn’t have a chance to say so for under his touch, Folkard stiffened.

Although his stare didn’t waver, Folkard closed his mouth and swallowed. “It’s called a Florenskiite.”

“The creature?”

“Yes.”

“You’re…communing with it?”

“Now I am. Whatever that monolith is…the sound. Can you not hear?”

“No.” He was aware of something, but more a vibration beneath his skin than true sound.

“Sound?” Arnaud frowned. He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Of course!” He looked at Nathaniel, excitement sparking in his eyes. “Cairns.”

“Cairns?”

“Yes. A cairn can be a mound of rough stones, often found on hilltops, built as a memorial or landmark. Some are prehistoric burial mounds.”

“I know what a cairn is, Arnaud!”

“Sorry. Of course But there are also chambered cairns, sometimes referred to as tombs, although that word is misleading.”

Nathaniel knew that, too, but could tell that Arnaud was working his way through his thoughts as much as imparting knowledge. The ancient constructions Arnaud referred to were thought to have served as repositories of the dead, but many took that to mean the purpose was funerary. Bones found in cairns were often in differing states of disorganisation to neatly arranged, complete skeletons. In some, piles of specific bones were arranged with different parts of the body all collected in one area, such as the skulls forming a single heap. Nathaniel tempered his natural prejudices with scientific knowledge and curiosity. While he was more comfortable with mechanical constructs, he understood and had even had cause to examine the workings of the machine known as the human body, and accepted that times changed, the world moved on, and cultures varied. Many practices became antiquated, even vulgar.

There was much speculation on the use of cairns. An area for decomposition was one such possibility, as some cultures believed that a person’s soul only found release to the spirit world once flesh decayed. Some societies used the cairns to interact with their dead, perhaps commune with their spirits, even to seek advice, maintaining that their departed continued to be part of an individual’s family as well as the community. Many believed some Neolithic civilisations viewed the cairns as simply “houses of the dead”. Places where the dead dwelled separate from their lives and yet still part of it. They were not tombs in the sense as the British would view them, but played an important role in the lives of those relatives left behind. Was Arnaud suggesting these small chambers had something to do with the inhabitants of Phobos? Nathaniel had considered the structures supported the corridor or perhaps the crystal city above. Granted, he had realised the shape could not be natural, but he hadn’t thought the Chaldrites had constructed them, unless they had since devolved somewhat. However, if not them, than whom? If they could build something as intricate as the crystal city, the cairns might be simple in comparison, but the materials were different. Now that he paid closer attention it occurred to him the Drobates might have built these and moved on. That still did not explain their use.

“Some cairns are divided into compartments rather like these. Unlike these, they also contain structures one can only refer to as shelves. Some have side cells, or composite chambers.”

While he would have welcomed this discussion any other time, the sense of urgency prevailed. Possibly, seeing he was frustrating Nathaniel or losing his interest, Arnaud got to the point.

“Some historians believe that cairns were not just storage or homes for the dead, but could have held great religious significance.”

“I know all this. They believed they could commune with their ancestors’ spirits.”

Arnaud shook his head. “Oui, but not just that. As with many religions, their prayer time or worship could have involved music, singing, chanting. It is believed that the design of some cairns magnified this. Combine that with…oh, darkness, atmosphere, possibly mood enhancing substances such as alcohol, and you have a recipe for what might seem to some as a spiritual experience.”

“Arnaud, there is a giant…mole creature paying us particular attention. I rather wish you would get to the point.”

Arnaud threw up his hands in what struck Nathaniel to be a very French gesture. “The cairns may have been built to heighten acoustics! Or it may have occurred by accident, but the holy men of the time would have exploited this phenomenon. In some cairns, a sound played in one area may not be heard at its origin but is amplified in another. Imagine, Nathaniel, that someone of that time hearing unusual, inexplicable sounds, might have mistaken their source, certainly believed the explanation non-secular. Many historians and archaeologists have theorised that sound played an important if not intrinsic role in their ceremonies and traditions.”

“As fascinating as this is, I do not see…”

“As well as amplification the cairns can affect sound, produce standing waves.”

Nathaniel wracked his brain. “The intensity of sound, both in the high and low frequencies?”

“Yes!”

“The result seeming to have no connection to the actual source of the sound.”

“Exactement! But even more incredible is that many believe the cairns capable of producing infrasound.”

Sounds below the range of human hearing?

Nathaniel was already nodding when Arnaud grabbed him by the arms. “Sound that cannot be heard but felt!” The geologist could barely contain his excitement.

Nathaniel ran a hand over his face, stared at the monolith. Except for the quiet hum of power, he heard no sound, but could it be producing resonances the chambers amplified in some other way? “Tell me, Arnaud, what…effects can such sounds have on humans?”

“Many. Headaches, nausea, dizziness. It can produce the sensation of flying; affect the pulse-rate. Some in the vicinity have said it felt as if sounds were coming from inside them, rather than external.”

The list explained everything. He said so.

“Yes, mon toujours. Whatever this thing was designed to do, it was broken. I no longer experience a feeling of dread.”

Now that Arnaud mentioned it, Nathaniel realised he, too, felt better.

“This thing was the source of all our fears, until you repaired it.”

“What fears did you have?”

Arnaud blinked at the question, reached out to place a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Only one.”

Before Nathaniel could respond to that or even think of a way to answer, Folkard moaned. He perspired, trembled.

If Folkard communed with the creature, could he explain their trapped friends, what the other men were doing to the Chaldrites? Could such a creature understand the concept of friendship or danger? Would it want to help them if it could?

Whatever Folkard was telling it, the Florenskiite reared up. The front of its mouth opened. Nathaniel was treated to one of the most ugly and frightening sights he’d ever seen: a long split padded tongue inside two rows of lower teeth, the roof of the mouth a hard ridge plate from which sprouted moving feelers ending in small hooks. The back of the mouth disappeared into a puckered opening that seemed to suck at the air even as he stared. It didn’t take science or imagination to work out how the creature ate. The feelers would hold its prey in place, the teeth would tear it open, and the tongue would flick the meat back into the throat to be sucked down.

Notch went flat to the ground, scurrying back, almost a combination of homage and retreat. Nathaniel believed he now knew how Notch had got the injury and thereby his name. The Florenskiite’s mouth was perfectly suited to breaking the Chaldrite shells open and scooping out the insides.

2.

“IS THAT AN Earth…er…I mean moonquake?” Carstairs enquired before giving way to another rattling cough. Oddly, despite his weakened condition or maybe because of it he seemed less affected by the sudden nausea and dizziness that many of the others had experienced. They were only just recovering from that, and now the ground was shaking.

“What is that?” Highmore asked, as if he expected someone answer.

“I don’t know,” Annabelle said, dredging up a modicum of hope, “but I wager Professor Stone has something to do with it.”

3.

AS THE CREATURE departed, Folkard climbed through the ring of cairns. The other two men chased after him, but once beneath the city they separated without a word. Above their heads, a city hung suspended, like a hive but more than that. Each chamber that housed a family hung like a pocket or pouch exactly like the crystal droplets from a chandelier. Unlike such an adornment, the branches were made of nothing more than the same glasslike material. The sight was at once breathtaking and incredibly fragile.

“Spit.”

“Pardon?” Nathaniel stared at the Frenchman.

“You are not looking.”

Turning his gaze back to the city, Nathaniel tried to see through the dazzling rays of reflected light. He concentrated on a cluster of beetles about forty feet above to which Arnaud pointed.

“Ever seen a bee make a hive?”

“’Pon my soul!” Just as bees chewed up honey to form beeswax, the beetles constructed the crystalline structures by using their mouths. Maybe not quite the spit Arnaud referred to, but Nathaniel understood why he’d used the word. The fools were collecting what they thought was treasure and it turned out to be a secretion made by insects.

“The flaking is possibly the substance breaking down. When it does, they repair. The find that the team is extracting is probably an old part of the city.”

“Or a subsidiary,” Nathaniel suggested. “Or an old tributary that once linked to here or was created before they built this.”

“Oui. Equally possible. This is the treasure they would kill us for.”

“Notch indicated another way through. A faster approach to the surface, I hope.” Nathaniel spoke but his gaze was all for the city that shimmered above, appearing as if it would fall any moment, break apart as hail or snowflakes.

“Then we best follow.” Even though Nathaniel nodded his agreement, Arnaud had to lead him away. As he took a last look back, Arnaud squeezed Nathaniel’s hand. The reality of touch broke through Nathaniel’s reluctance to leave something so beautiful behind. Something he could end up staring at it for eternity.

4.

“WE’LL BE CRUSHED!”

Although a possibility, Annabelle failed to dredge up any real fear. Only now was she beginning to understand how much the effect of Phobos had weighed. She didn’t know which of the men had shouted and she couldn’t respond because the ground vibrated so much she was in danger of biting her tongue. Still, she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.

“I should be terrified!” Elizabeth shouted.

All Annabelle could do was nod while grinning like an idiot. Still the area truly was becoming too unstable. Taking the other woman’s hand, Annabelle pushed away from the wall, dragged Elizabeth along as she stumbled across the open space, trying to avoid tumbling rocks. Henry cried out and went down. Highmore picked him up.

“Where’s the safest spot?” Annabelle grabbed Henry’s arm.

“The overhang.” Henry pointed.

“I will manage Henry,” Annabelle said, flinging the man’s arm across her shoulders. “You two work to get Carstairs to safety.”

They obeyed, possibly more out of surprise than anything. Annabelle, and Henry followed in their wake, Annabelle trying not to laugh at the extraordinary sight they must make, staggering, a bleeding man, and a woman with a false leg pulling them off balance so that they leaned drunkenly to one side.

They’d almost made it to where Elizabeth and Highmore were now moving the other man when a sound not unlike the moon breaking apart made them turn. Common sense drove them back under the overhang so that they all crouched looking out as across the way cracks appeared. Someone yelled, “Take cover,” and they all flung themselves down just as a large quantity of stone blasted out. Blinking through the haze of dirt, Annabelle saw a pale snout amidst a furry face.

“Well, Elizabeth,” Annabelle coughed out. “I think you have your own story of derring-do to tell.”

Elizabeth began to laugh as Henry looked from one to the other and asked if they were mad.

Chapter Thirteen

“In Which There is Much Brave Daring and Many Risk a Fall”

1.

THE PASSAGES NOTCH led them to made for easier progress, though for once, Nathaniel felt some gratitude for his height. Although in many places on Phobos that very thing had given him no option but to stoop, here, where the ceiling was a few inches above his head, his long legs and lean shape worked in his favour. In places where Whitlock and Folkard took to scrambling up on hand and knees, Nathaniel was able to make progress with few strides. He turned back often to reach for Arnaud, pulling the man up behind him, feeling a strange frisson to be leading Arnaud out of the depths of the moon.

When the silence began to weigh too much, Nathaniel broke it by saying; “I’ve a promise to keep, Captain. To free these Chaldrites from tyranny.”

“That we shall, Professor. I promise you I will put their freedom second only to the well-being of our group and the men we are here to rescue.”

As declarations went, the captain’s was fair. Still, it surprised Nathaniel when Folkard added; “As to the other men, we will do what we have to do. What they force us to do. There is more to discover on this moon, and I would do so without further threats. If we can incarcerate them all to the good, but our safety is paramount.”

It sounded harsh and callous yet Nathaniel agreed. When they had been climbing for what must be an hour, Whitlock stopped. At first Nathaniel believed the man paused to catch his breath, they were all quite done in, but the man gazed around concerned.

“What is it, Corporal?” Folkard asked, swallowing with apparent difficulty. Nathaniel was just thinking how he could do with a drop of water himself…or several. He tried not to focus on the discomfort.

“Begging your pardon, sah, but we must be close or have by-passed the level where we started.”

It took a moment for Nathaniel to work out what the corporal meant but then he realised it was simply a calculation of time versus distance travelled. Either Notch had led them false or they must come to a juncture soon. Folkard seemed to reach the same conclusion. “We’ll carry on a-ways. If nothing changes we’ll have to turn back.”

They could make that decision any time only to be moments away from escape but it was the sensible choice.

2.

INTENT ON PICKING her way through the rubble, Annabelle at first concentrated on bracing her foot before moving her false leg into what she hoped was a secure position, before moving again. While she had long learned how to maintain her balance, she could not feel with her artificial foot so had to judge the best placement. Using her arms as well as her legs, effectively she crabbed her way over the obstacles into the tunnel beyond.

The beast had disappeared as quickly as it had come, creating another passage for its passing. Rather than follow the way it had gone, they had chosen the tunnel it had left. Only as she finished labouring over the rubble and turned to assist Elizabeth did Annabelle notice the silence. There was the drip of water, the occasional clack of a falling rock, their laboured breaths. No one spoke. The cavern and the tunnel they were entering had somehow taken on a more eerie tone than they’d experienced when they were trapped. It was as if everything on Phobos waited.

“We must hurry,” Annabelle said, not at all surprised when no one argued.

3.

FOLKARD HAD MADE the decision to turn back. He’s not taken two paces when Professor Stone cried out. He turned in time to see the Nathaniel staring up as the Chaldrite passed over his head. Stone being so tall meant that the creature had brushed through his hair as it scurried across the ceiling defying gravity just as a small insect would on Earth. Once in front of the men the Chaldrite dashed down the wall and reared up in front of them to block the path.

“Out of the way!” Folkard said, not truly hoping the beetle would understand. When Notch refused to obey, and began to hiss, Folkard reached for his sidearm without thinking. Stone’s hand was suddenly on his wrist.

“Let’s not shoot the Chaldrite, Captain.”

“I didn’t intend to. Perhaps frighten it.”

“Let’s not do that either. Let’s turn back to the path.”

“What makes you think that’s the right thing to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe simply that I trust Annabelle, and Annabelle trusts Notch. I don’t believe the creature is leading us astray.”

“Very well.” Folkard looked across the way wishing he had the means to blast a hole through solid rock. He was aware Stone watched his face and followed his gaze. Something was calling him…not back the way he had come, but in a straight line. “We will go just a little further.” He prayed that was all it would take. If he stopped for long or collapsed, he wasn’t sure he could get up again. He took a last look in the direction he desired to go, wishing for dynamite; as if in reply, the world began to shake.

4.

IN PRACTICE WE must hurry translated to we must limp along as fast as we can. Henry was injured yet he was faring better than Carstairs. The only able people among them were the Highmores. Annabelle would have liked to include herself as able-bodied, but the uneven terrain defied her balance. Pain now radiated outwards from her hip as a burning sensation. She felt parched, tired, dirty. Her moment of optimism had vanished to be replaced with…not even dread, just an overwhelming desire to rest. The longing outweighed even the need to eat and drink. For a great deal of the journey, she seemed to be taking the lead. It crossed her mind to wonder if they would perish in the heart of Phobos simply owing to being lost within its catacombs. The direction twisted so often it made no sense. Some of the tunnels seemed newly formed, but many were ancient.

She found herself once again in front as the terrain began to rumble. Everyone stopped moving. The vibration petered off. She opened her mouth to speak, and the ground gave way beneath her feet.

5.

A PIERCING SCREAM rang out as Nathaniel and the others rounded a corner into another long tunnel that branched left and right. They’d been so close and had almost turned back. There was no time to worry over the consequences of that.

“Go!” Folkard shouted. Nathaniel didn’t need telling or to guess from which way the scream had come. Notch overtook him and went to the left. He followed, putting his hands out to either side to prevent being thrown into the walls as the ground shook again. This time there was a distant boom. As much as he found it unbelievable, Nathaniel easily identified the sound. An explosion.

6.

COUGHING AND GROANING, Annabelle rolled onto her side. Bracing her hands under her, she prised her upper body from the ground. Blinking in the cloud of dust, she tried to look around but her eyes were watering and she was as good as blind. She coughed some more, and despite not being able to see, she moved onto her hands and knees feeling about in the gloom. As she did so from deep in the moon, she heard a sound that seemed to resonate right through her.

“Oh no!” Her words were a prayer. Her first thought was of the others, and secondly of the Chaldrites. She didn’t want them hurt. She’d been through this before with the Selenites. She’d lost K’chuk. She didn’t want to lose Notch.

“What was that?”

The voice was male and above her. Another voice rang out, shouting down. “Annabelle? Are you well?”

“Yes, Henry. I believe so.” She coughed some more, but the fine particles were beginning to settle.

“We’ll be right down. Don’t move.” The man at once set about her rescue, climbing down. Another bang sounded from deep in the moon, throwing her to the side, making her gasp. At the same time, she heard a sound like a baby’s rattle. Could she stand to face another threat?

A dark shape pressed against her hands. A Chaldrite? She didn’t expect to feel a break in the shell, and only realised she had been feeling for it when her fingers encountered the uneven edge. “Notch?”

“Annabelle?”

“Nathaniel?”

He appeared out of the swirling dirt, Corporal Whitlock just behind him. Nathaniel touched her face, smoothed back her hair. He stared into her eyes as if memorising what she looked like. When his hands began a further exploration, Annabelle didn’t know whether to laugh or gasp in surprise. He was checking her for injuries.

“I think I’m all right, Nathaniel, but thank you for the concern. I’m just…a mess.”

“No more than I.”

“I…” She gave up. “I want to compliment you but I won’t argue with you on that score. I’d like to say I’ve never been so glad to see you, but I’m sure there have been other times when I was equally pleased, and there will be many more. Where’s Folkard?”

“He…” Nathaniel looked behind him, frowning. “He and Arnaud were right behind me.”

“Arnaud?”

“We rescued him earlier. We’ve been on quite a little adventure. Crystal cities, sound machines, gigantic moles.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, except for the mole. I’ve seen it, Nathaniel. They lowered us into this…abyss. Oh, I’m sure Arnaud told you. The mole broke through. It’s why we were able to get free.”

He glanced back the way he had come again. “Either it’s a coincidence or Folkard was indeed able to commune with it. I’ll explain when there’s more time,” he said, probably seeing what had to be a perplexed look on her face.

He looked over her shoulder. “We can’t go that way.”

She turned, seeing that when the ground gave out from under her much of the path ahead had fallen into the tunnel blocking the way. “Can we scramble up and continue on in the tunnel above?”

Whitlock already appeared to be assessing that problem. He glanced at her and then tried. The rocks started to shift. He shook his head. “We might make it up but we’ll be lucky to do so without injury.”

“We don’t want that,” Nathaniel said. “Maybe Folkard has found another way through.”

Annabelle knew he wouldn’t leave her side, and yet he was undoubtedly thinking of Arnaud. “You go ahead. We’ll follow.” He looked at her but she ignored him. “Help me up,” she ordered, and as he did, she said: “You go check. If we can’t get through that way you can return and we will not have progressed too far.” Despite her logic, she could see he wasn’t completely fooled. “Go find him, Nathaniel. Watch over him.” He would know she didn’t mean Folkard.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Or we’ll catch up. All of us will. But…be careful.” She didn’t like sending him away from her alone, but Notch didn’t seem inclined to leave her.

“I’ll scout ahead with you,” Henry volunteered. He gestured with his injured arm as if to say he wasn’t much good for anything else. Annabelle nodded in gratitude.

7.

ARNAUD HAD HESITATED between following Nathaniel or Folkard. Heart versus duty. He wasn’t exactly surprised the professor chose duty and thought more of him for it rather than less. He felt equally torn, but Folkard and a beam of light pulled him in the other direction. He’d see that Folkard was safe then turn around and check on his toujours.

The sight before him made Arnaud forget his decision long enough for Nathaniel to retrace his steps to Arnaud’s side, by which time it was all the doctor could do not to hug him. The British and their decorum! Arnaud could barely contain his excitement, but a stranger accompanied the professor and Arnaud supposed he should show a little restraint. He gave the man a nod, but the newcomer was too lost in staring at the crystal city. Arnaud grabbed Nathaniel by the forearms, spun him around, pointing.

“What do you see?”

Nathaniel looked down, his eyes going wide.

“Non. Not down there.” Down was a vertical shaft leading to the base of the monolith. “Look across.”

Nathaniel obeyed, for several seconds, perhaps almost a minute. “A ring of…standing stones? Mini monoliths?”

Arnaud chuckled. “Mini monoliths. I like that. But yes.” The stones were at equal distance in a circle in the surrounding walls.

“How many?”

“It is difficult to say. I estimate around thirty. Rings such as this… there has been some study. Very specific, individual, yet contrasting resonances can be picked up in such arenas of stone.”

“Like an amphitheatre?”

“Precisely. Sound made near the edge reflected as echoes from nearby stones.”

“And from the centre, the stage, it would blanket the audience. One could play with sound.”

“Oui. It could even appear as if the stones themselves were singing.” He pointed across the way. “See that one there?”

“It’s fallen over.”

“And I believe it needs righting. Only then will the monolith truly sing.”

“For that you will need help. Henry,” the stranger said, holding out a hand almost absentmindedly. “Kidnappee.”

“Arnaud. Geologist. Pleased to meet you.” They shook. “You’re injured.”

“Yes, my friend, but it is more discomfort than inability that hinders me.”

Folkard had already crossed one of the crystal bridges answering a call only he could hear. All three looked out to where he stood. Turning to look at the bridge, Arnaud said, “Don’t look down,” and set out, his first step a little hesitant, his second and third growing confident.

8.

“THERE’S LIGHT AT the end of the tunnel,” Whitlock said. As if she could hardly believe he had said it, Elizabeth gaped. He looked at her and winked. Annabelle suppressed a giggle. She was truly too bruised and battered to be giggling, but there was a point where the direst situation became hysterical. “I hear voices,” Whitlock said. He seemed to have switched allegiance, or perhaps he felt it was more seemly that he helped Annabelle along instead of Elizabeth, for whom he obviously had feelings.

“It’s Nathaniel and Arnaud.” She knew that much from the “oui”. As much as she wanted to hurry along, she could go no faster. They emerged upon a vista of that made her gaze in wonder. Crystal cities. The sight bolstered her spirits, brought tears to her eyes. The sound that Notch made at her side could only be described as happy.

9.

“WHAT ARE THEY doing?” Highmore took a few steps onto the bridge before stopping. As he glanced down the sudden widening of his eyes revealed he didn’t like the view. Did he dislike heights as well has suffer from claustrophobia?

Across the way, the four men were wrestling a stone approximately the same height as Nathaniel into a standing position. It wavered on one edge, making Annabelle catch her breath. She was positive one of them would be hurt in the attempt. Henry was already injured and Nathaniel had a weak wrist, but finally the stone rolled into place.

She didn’t know what they’d been expecting but everything…seemed better. The light increased. Annabelle felt optimistic. Even her hurts failed to irritate quite as they had. She had only seconds to enjoy the good feeling before the walls shook.

Something screamed in pain, and Annabelle half heard, half felt it. She clasped her hands over her ears as explosions, shots and the shouts of men assaulted her from all directions. It didn’t seem to matter how far away they were. With the righting of the standing stone it was as if she knew the layout of Phobos and everything that was happening within. The treasure seekers battled the mole creature and she could feel its screams.

A piece of the city shook free, falling to shatter on one of the bridges below. Chaldrites scattered. Cracks began to appear in the infrastructure. Henry, cradling his injured arm, hurried back across the bridge, Arnaud just behind him. Elizabeth screamed; Annabelle shouted. A crack travelled from the middle juncture straight for Henry’s feet, but neither he nor Armand could avoid it. The bridge…separated, both sides throwing the men apart to balance precariously on the two fragile ledges. Both would fall. Who went first was only a question of which ledge snapped.

10.

HIGHMORE BARELY HESITATED. He was paralysed for a few seconds which shock accounted for, and then he was moving. Nathaniel might have been moving too, but he had his own problems. Another boom shook the city; a flash of light and what seemed to be fire from on high. Pieces began to fall. Folkard and Stone flinched back, barely avoiding the crystalline splinters that rained down. He pushed away from the side as soon as he could get his balance, just in time to see Henry pitch to the side. Then Highmore was there, legs wrapped around the broken remnants of the bridge, hands reaching, pulling Henry to safety, ignoring his friend’s cry of what was surely pain as he pulled on his injured arm.

Without thinking, Nathaniel moved out on the other side. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but Arnaud was caught, trying to pull free.

“Joseph!”

Henry’s shout accompanied a shriek from Elizabeth. Henry was now back on the ledge, but more of the crystal pendants fell, one of them sweeping Highmore to his doom.

Nathaniel tore his gaze away from the falling man, but made the mistake of gazing down. This was little better than walking on glass…or thin ice, and Nathaniel was no more safe than standing on a pond over frozen depths. This barrier continued to splinter, cracks zigzagging and snapping under his feet. Through the clear sheet he saw open space, and what appeared to be an infinite view of distance, a shaft leading to an endless void. Even worse was the sight of falling Chaldrites and Joseph’s terrified face.

He’d thought the man such a braggart when first they’d met, and now Nathaniel was watching him fall to his death. Seconds only, but the time stretched. In Highmore’s eyes, he saw fear and…acceptance. A trade. His life for Henry’s, for the happiness of his sister. What was it Highmore had said about a premonition? Nathaniel, the one to think the least of Joseph Highmore, was the only one seeing the true mettle of the man as he fell to his death.

Love sometimes meant sacrifice.

Nathaniel moved, ignoring the cracks that pursued him. He ignored Arnaud’s shout telling him to get back, to save himself. He grabbed the strap of Arnaud’s canteen holding Arnaud trapped, and which he couldn’t reach, and with strength he didn’t know he had, Nathaniel snapped it.

“We’ll never make it,” Arnaud gasped, although he was already turning towards Annabelle. The group were screaming at Henry to move and he was already making his way to them on what appeared to be leaden feet. Nathaniel didn’t need to look back to know that way was cut off. The ledge grew ever more treacherous and he’d heard another part of the city falling, knew it would strike the bridge. Nathaniel pushed Arnaud ahead.

Although he tried not to look down, he had little choice. They had to run along a ledge no more than a foot wide and slowly tipping to one side. If either man went over there was nothing either could do to save the other.

The ledge gave a vicious twist. Arnaud cried out, the sound cutting through Nathaniel, severing all hope. Something already dead took up residence within him dragging him out of this reality into the next. Hands were reaching for Arnaud even as he fell, but they would never reach Nathaniel in time…and in that instance, Nathaniel felt at peace. He’d saved Arnaud. He could forgive himself much in that final act.

At the same time, part of Nathaniel resisted. He wanted to live. He had to live! So much to learn, to experience…to understand! Diving for the ledge, he felt a great slam to his chest, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t see for he had closed his eyes. He couldn’t think. Then he realised that he had his arms crossed in front of him, elbows braced against rock, his long frame hanging from the cliff, and he was beginning to slip.

At his side, Arnaud kicked out into space, letting others draw him up, turning to him even before he was safe. Nothing had looked so good to Nathaniel before than the vision of Arnaud’s concerned face, Annabelle’s bright eyes just behind, as his friends reached to pull him up.

11.

THE SHAKING STOPPED shortly after the last explosion. Folkard stood on the other side of the shaft. He could work through what remained of the crystal walkways, but it would take some time.

The others went on ahead. The battle was already over. The earth-boring creature lay still, on its side, its long moans of pain heart-rending.

Many men were dead; others injured of which two most certainly would not survive. To everyone’s surprise, Elizabeth kicked one of the injured men, and then sat down, her hands over her face and started to cry.

Trying not to think of Highmore’s broken body lying at the foot of the shaft, or to wonder whether they should have asked the Florenskiite to put itself in harm’s way, Arnaud set his mind to the fact that they had done what they set out to do: rescue Henry and his man. He lived, as did they all. Considering everything, the scales tipped to a win, but the loss of one man weighed far more heavily than many would have said. Even these men…Arnaud gazed around at them. Fools. They had fought and lost their lives for fool’s gold. They had been prepared to kill for it. With Nathaniel standing on one side, Annabelle on his other, Arnaud understood true wealth. Annabelle took his hand, squeezed it, and then let go before doing the same to Nathaniel. She walked over to Elizabeth, sat down beside her, and pulled the sobbing girl into her embrace. He supposed even Annabelle didn’t have it in her to nurse those who had caused so much grief, although the thought was unjust. Whitlock had far more field experience. Besides, Annabelle was comforting one of the victims of this foolishness.

“It’s dying, Nathaniel.” Arnaud moved away from him, approaching the mole creature. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear Nathaniel warn him to stay back. One couldn’t tell how an injured animal would react, but Arnaud had already laid his hands upon that glistening fur. As Nathaniel drew closer, Arnaud started murmuring meaninglessly, his hands stroking in soothing circles. “No one and nothing should die alone,” Arnaud said, as if Nathaniel had asked him.

In minutes, the creature shuddered and lay still. Nathaniel turned away, and asked Whitlock, “Can I help?”

“No need,” Whitlock said. “Save your strength for when we move out of here.”

“Nathaniel?”

He turned as Arnaud called his name. Arnaud pressed his head against the side of the dead Florenskiite. “I can hear a heartbeat. Do you have a knife?”

A quarter of an hour later the two men stood covered in more blood than Arnaud cared to think about, a baby Florenskiite in their arms. “I guess this makes us parents,” Arnaud said, laughing. The creature wriggled out of his grasp and began to wash itself. “Ahh…how soon they leave the nest.”

They stood just as a man emerged from a nearby tunnel. Captain Folkard had lost his hat.

12.

MY DEAREST FRIEND. If you are reading this then misfortune has found me. Some would say it is long overdue. You saved me from drowning when we were boys and since then, I cannot explain, but I have always felt I was living on borrowed time. I tried to live my life to the fullest and some might feel in doing so, I lived to excess. All I can tell you is that I have had a wonderful life, an extension of my years I would not have had at all if it were not for you. I want now to urge caution. I leave all that I have to secure yours and Elizabeth’s future together. This is the part where I tell you to lay your adventurous nature aside and live carefully…but I cannot. It is a part of the man who Elizabeth loves, and I share her feelings. I envy you the times ahead. Survival taught me that one cannot always be cautious and one cannot always do as society dictates or one might not truly live at all. You gave me time and an awakening to live a full life. I might have chosen a different path but not one I would have enjoyed so well. Do not waste the financial security I have left you both, but do not seclude yourself away in honour of me or some other such foolishness. Live. Explore. Love and laugh. Do these things with my blessing and Elizabeth at your side. Knowing you will do these things, I die happy.

13.

THEY WERE TO leave for Mars with the injured men where Folkard rightly said they would face another kind of justice…and with the body of Joseph Highmore. None of them wanted to contemplate how Sir Henry Routledge would greet this news, although perhaps the knowledge the man had died saving his friend would calm him. Elizabeth was inconsolable. Annabelle was spending much time with her, and if were not for the fact that he saved her fiancé, said she feared the poor woman would never raise a smile again. As for Henry Barnsdale-Stevens…Arnaud believed his heart was the heaviest of all, blaming himself for Joseph’s fate. Not even Arnaud knew what to say to raise his spirits, although perhaps Joseph’s letter had helped. It seemed they were quite the family for leaving notes, and Joseph had left such a letter in Whitlock’s care.

In the short time they remained on Phobos, the newly born Florenskiite had begun to tunnel. Folkard seemed to have an affinity with it, although no one overly discussed this, perhaps dreading what many back on Earth would think. The creature bore through to the very minerals they sought (leading Nathaniel to much speculation over genetic memory). Folkard planned to return with a team to Phobos to oversee extraction. Some had raised concern over the possibility another adult Florenskiite might exist, and seek retribution, but Arnaud had put their minds at rest. As well as being an excellent geologist, he was becoming versed in many subjects, and felt certain the creature was asexual, likely reproducing at will or when necessary. He could not help thinking how this would make human relationships a great deal less complicated. Annabelle had taken to calling the Florenskiite his and Nathaniel’s son, and because everyone needed a laugh they let the joke continue; although Nathaniel was more put out than he, of course.

As well as the minerals, the creature broke through to…Nathaniel had said he wanted to call it a Heart, but the term was misleading. Even though the overwhelming effects of Phobos seemed to dissipate with the repairs they affected, in the nucleus, the core…that place still brought dread. Even Arnaud sensed something inherently evil in that place, and had felt relief when they discovered it was dead. As Nathaniel continued working on deciphering the inscriptions he confirmed his belief that the humanoid form that the Chaldrites mistook them for was that of the Drobates. As they were not natural to Luna, he deduced they were not natural to Phobos. Even Arnaud felt he should have realised that the form could not depict mankind earlier but no one had envisioned another…not-Heart. It had no soul and inspired horror. Arnaud had suggested calling it the Eye, partly from Nathaniel’s translations and because, although dead, it was as if it watched from beyond the grave. Alas, the discovery had thrown up as many questions as it answered. The largest of which was what kind of life existed beyond the asteroid belt, how advanced, and what they had yet to discover.

They had left the monoliths aligned, and Arnaud had taken the time to lay a hand on each, had felt the vibrations of them singing. There Nathaniel found him, and made Arnaud jump almost as though he had a reason to feel guilty. Approaching him, Arnaud failed to recognise the expression on Nathaniel’s face. “I’m all right,” he told him. “You saved my life.”

Nathaniel was quiet for so long, Arnaud didn’t think he’d answer him.

“Despite what we may have to face, I…we have already survived things of which I never dreamed. Annabelle is once more safe…for now, as are we all. You say I saved your life, but I feel in many ways you have saved mine.”

The speech was quite something, yet ambiguous enough to make Arnaud feel a last moment of unease. Then he smiled and laughed at his own foolishness, the sensation likely being a lingering sense of anxiety, of what Annabelle called The Phobos Effect, rather than a premonition. They would leave Phobos, having made friends with a new race of beings. They had suffered losses and gained rewards. Henry took with him some of the soil of Phobos to cast down on Joseph’s grave. They were all saddened, while some were also excited yet afraid.

Things could have turned out far worse, so despite any lingering sensations of dread, they lived and left Phobos with the possibility of a future, and that was by far better than leaving with nothing more than a fistful of dust…

Epilogue

THE STANDING STONES vibrated as though they were sentient and able to tremble with joy. At last they served their purpose, singing, sending out their chant into the universe. Their voices produced a melody far reaching, far beyond the beings wandering within one small moon. Notes rose and floated as dust on a current of air, guided by a voice only one thing could hear clearly.

A single note carried the sharpest, the others acting as a flow to direct it.

On the edge of the Solar System something within the heart of Pluto’s moon stirred.

The End.

Next; ‘Horizons of Deceit, Book I’

Acknowledgements

A thank you to Andy for dragging me on board the Esmeralda 2 and indeed the whole Space, 1889 project. I’m sure I sounded more bewildered than grateful in the beginning, but now have an abiding interest in steampunk and the desire to write more. A thank you to Frank for receiving my work so well and for creating the series. Little did I know as I was heading out into the world and buying my first home that the original RPG was doing the same and that one day our paths would cross. And last but never least, thank you as ever to Kevin for being so supportive in all my creative pursuits. I still remember that kiss on the cheek after his reading my first ever longer-length publication because of its sincerity and because no other reaction could be as important to me.