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.