Mundus Cerialis Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  MUNDUS CERIALIS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Space: 1889 & Beyond—Mundus Cerialis

  By Andy Frankham-Allen & Sharon Bidwell

  Copyright 2012 by Sharon Bidwell & Andy Frankham-Allen

  Space: 1889 © & ™ Frank Chadwick 1988, 2012

  Cover Design & Art © Adam Burn and

  Untreed Reads Publishing, 2012

  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. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. 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. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely 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

  Leviathans in the Clouds

  The Forever Journey

  A Handful of Dust

  Horizons of Deceit

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  “MUNDUS CERIALIS”

  By Sharon Bidwell &

  Andy Frankham-Allen

  Prologue

  1.

  THE PECULIAR RUBBER linings of the pressured corridors absorbed sound so that Arnaud almost failed to notice the first cough. The sound only registered when the word “slacker” was whispered, rounded off by another cough.

  Ivor Cadogan. There was only one man in residence at Messor Base who was worse, and that was Dylan Blayney, the base manager. Cadogan worked under him, which was all Arnaud needed to know. Blayney seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him, and if Blayney didn’t like a man, that meant Cadogan’s instant hatred followed.

  Pretending not to hear, Arnaud concentrated on the papers in his hands as he continued on to the next iron terrasphere, hoping Cadogan and the man at his side would just walk on by. Alas, Arnaud must have looked perplexed. As they came abreast, Cadogan spun on his heel and stopped.

  “Lost, Doctor Fontaine?” Cadogan always managed to sound as if he spat when he addressed Arnaud.

  “Non. Not…lost. Confused.” As much as Arnaud didn’t want to speak with him, Cadogan might have the explanation he needed.

  “Hardly surprising, that is.” Cadogan shared a look and a snigger with the colleague standing beside him.

  Arnaud didn’t recognise the face and didn’t engage with either of the miners regarding the insult. Although Cadogan looked put-out when he failed to get a response to such defamation, it was better to pretend ignorance, to play the bumbling fool than to acknowledge the abuse. He’d learned to do so only escalated matters. He could hardly report Cadogan to Blayney, and if he tried to go higher, he would be met with more ridicule, either owing to his nationality, or his position. If a grown man couldn’t take a little ridicule, no one saw much hope for his surviving in space. They viewed such men as unreliable. Besides, scientists were not revered by everyone in the universe, and since he’d first been introduced to Blayney, the man had referred to him as the Frenchie who “played with rocks”.

  Dragging out a sheet of paper, wishing light as well as sound was not so dull in the connecting corridors, Arnaud said, “Each corridor is known by the prefix occator, oui?” When all he received was a stare, he continued, “The list is not…erm…how would you say? Chromelogical?”

  “What?”

  “He means chronological,” the other man interjected.

  Accepting he had pronounced it incorrectly—hardly a great offence—still it amused Arnaud to note that Cadogan seemed no more enlightened. He glared at his companion who shuffled his feet.

  “In order, n’est-ce pas?” Arnaud gestured to the non-sequential numbers on the sheet, and saw at once he’d inadvertently drawn Cadogan’s anger. Cadogan appeared to be chewing his tongue so hard, Arnaud almost expected to see blood when he opened his mouth.

  “Don’t expect hard-working men to know fancy expressions in any language. What’d you need to know about the mining for?” Cadogan shared a look with the man at his side, seemingly on good terms with him again.

  He could hardly blame them for the hostility, but he had explained to men better than Cadogan that he found the environment austere, and the necessity of working in an atmosphere suit too restricting. It was truly better if they could bring samples back to him here at the base. Orlondo Quintana, the palaeontologist who had summoned him here, was the only one who had shown him any understanding in this matter, understanding that he would accomplish more without distractions and unnecessary physical hardship.

  To the miners, they saw Arnaud’s complaint as a refusal to dirty his hands, a means to shirk responsibility and to leave the hard work to “lower” classes. Arnaud saw these men as no such thing, but they didn’t want to hear explanations. They were sick of mining for many months at a time for what they saw as little compensation. They saw riches being dug out every day and some wanted their cut. Arnaud and the other scientists could have tried explaining that not all minerals amounted to gems, and that although much of what they found might have considerable worth and various applications, without scientific involvement they would never know for certain. Some discoveries would undoubtedly be worthless. Some would require many years of investigation. Arnaud sympathised with everyone on both sides, but what these men were paid had nothing to do with him. The one thing he might have been able to stand up for was better provisions. If the men wanted to argue about social division, they ought to start in the dining hall. It couldn’t have escaped everyone’s notice that some of the men ate better than others. His nose had twitched with some tantalising scents on occasion. Either it was a matter of rank or personal disapprobation, but the scientists were served the same as most of the lower work force. Hardly fair that those in charge or with the right connections ate better when many of the rest did the bulk of physical labour.

  “How are they…?” He searched for the word.

  “Prioritised?” Cadogan’s companion offered helpfully, and then looked away as Cadogan’s gaze fell on him.

  “Oui. Yes.”

  Cadogan turned his glare back to Arnaud. “Better ask that of more important men. We’re just the worker ants.” The venom and sarcasm did not escape Arnaud, and with that Cadogan did spit, just missing Arnaud’s feet, before lumbering off down the corridor. As for—Arnaud hid a smile—worker ants, Cadogan was one of those who ate well.

  “It’s a simple matter of inspection,” the other man whispered. “Some corridors are more important. Others less, or require more work, or…”

  “Oui, but these…” Arnaud tapped a few allocations low down on the list. He was pointing to some of the tunnels they were excavating right here on the base, a coup
le of which were marked as “discontinued”. The unknown miner glanced at the page, before looking down the corridor to Cadogan’s back, then at the list again, and finally at Arnaud.

  “Some of the tunnels…they were set aside for much later investigation because of…peculiarities.”

  “Peculiarities?” Arnaud received no answer. Possibly fearing Cadogan’s wrath, the unnamed miner was already jogging down the corridor away from him.

  Arnaud was left holding sheets of paper, frowning, and only the fact of having his hands full stopped him from scratching his head.

  “I suggest you stick to your own tasks,” the British archaeologist, Doctor Lester Gully, told him when their paths next crossed and Arnaud mentioned the subject.

  “I was just…” Well, in truth he was wondering how many months he would be stuck here. He might enjoy studying rocks, but he didn’t enjoy living inside one—this had to be one of the most inhospitable places he’d ever visited, and he wasn’t just referring to the environment. “I’ve not seen this category listed elsewhere.”

  Doctor Gully leaned over, looked at the page, and then said, “Where did you get that?” Not waiting for an answer, he sniffed. “Odd, I admit, but…” He shrugged, already engrossed in examining the current specimens.

  Arnaud might have shrugged, too, if it had not been that a moment of simple curiosity had led to the utterance of a word certain to spark his interest: peculiarities. Instinct told him to shake it off as a poorly chosen description, but he didn’t believe that was the case. He was certain the man had chosen it quite precisely.

  Still, he could do no further investigation right now. Arnaud set his concerns aside and set about the next test sample.

  2.

  “FOOL!” CADOGAN SNAPPED to no one. He’d already arranged for Pettitt to go on the next transport out, although the idiot would already be on his way before he realised it was Cadogan’s doing and connected that with his talking to Fontaine. Pettitt swore he’d said nothing damaging, but the man had a runaway mouth.

  Well, the assignment served him right. If talking to him didn’t shut him up, hard work ought to, but as he couldn’t send the man off base for another day, he’d sent him down to check out the tunnels beyond Occator Six—the so-called “discontinued” corridors—just as a precaution, just in case Fontaine got inquisitive. Better to use Pettitt for that anyway.

  For the first time, it crossed his mind that Blayney had him at an imposition. Not that he thought the other man would take advantage of that. No way. They were friends. If it came down to someone needing to be blamed, they’d find someone else to use between them. Pity Pettitt was too much of an imbecile to use for such a purpose. No one would believe it was his doing, and he’d spill the whole tale. Hmm… Maybe he should keep Pettitt on one of the serritor details, just in case he needed to arrange an accident. Pettitt had enough of a mind probably to understand that the inspection was part punishment, but he’d never truly shared the same mindset. He sympathised too much with the scientists, talked about things being wondrous. He’d just gone from being an inconvenience to a liability.

  Pettitt should be back shortly, and Cadogan knew he’d have to keep an eye on him until he left the base. What was taking him so long? It was safe enough but decidedly creepy down in the tunnels. Not so bad when there were two or three of you, but alone? Pettitt would be lucky to make it back with clean underwear. When he did, he’d find his troubles were only just beginning and he’d been rostered off out of here. Cadogan would have to silence his inevitable protests. He couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

  3.

  OCCATOR SIX. THE number suggested the tunnel beyond the hatch was one of the first exhumed. Why then was it listed as “discontinued”? According to the schematics there had been only a little digging undertaken before it stopped. Could it be that there truly was nothing of worth down there? Or up? When one was in space the concept of up and down tended to get turned around. Still, the question bothered Arnaud. He didn’t see how they could come up with that deduction so fast. The work detail had only spent three days on that particular excavation.

  After finishing his initial tests on another batch of minerals, he’d taken a break to throw what they called food down his throat. He’d head back to the lab directly, set up work for tomorrow, and then rest. If he had time, he might even check out…

  As if his feet had known where his mind was at, Arnaud realised he’d not stopped at the intersection leading to the lab, but had continued on. Any further and he’d end up at the opening that led to Occator Six.

  Curiosity was a terrible burden. He did not need to anger Cadogan and the others to greater extremes. There was no hurry, and a wise man would not go about inspecting the very thing he had mentioned to the enemy—that was a mistake, he realised now—that very same day. For all he knew Cadogan could be lying in wait.

  “My friends would be so proud,” Arnaud muttered. He had gained a suspicious mind, and didn’t even know when the change had occurred. Maybe he’d always been a little suspect of people. Minerals were safer and they didn’t argue or answer back. Doctor Gully was right. He should stick to studying inorganic matter.

  The only reason he didn’t move was because of the blood.

  The bloody handprint positively glowed, standing out so starkly against the wall.

  Chapter One

  “Dusklight”

  1.

  “MY DEAREST NATHANIAL, don’t you see? I simply cannot let this ring off my finger.”

  For the first time in almost a month Nathanial could feel his own weight again. He was more than used to aether travel now, but he did worry about the long term effects that weightlessness was having on his body. He had recently discovered on Earth, that long-term exposure to the lack of gravity in the aether would have a detrimental effect on the human body. It would take much more travelling for his body to get irrevocably damaged, but still it bothered him. Alas, until gravitar was widespread he would have to suffer, and better to be weightless than to be on Earth. In the meantime he had the pleasure of Annabelle’s company with which to contend.

  For the most part, on their trip from Earth, she had let him be, spending most of her time with Folkard up on the control deck, or attending the plants in the greenhouse. They met for breakfast every morning, but otherwise Nathanial was left to his own devices. Which had suited him fine; since agreeing to this mission he had not much cared for the company of others. He simply wished to be alone with his books, or busy in the engine room when Seaman Fenn was sleeping. But now they were in the Mercurian atmosphere they all had to be ready to interact with people once again. Which meant it was time to become their new selves—a fact Annabelle was now finding issue with.

  “Up until now it has not been a concern, but we cannot walk about Princess Christiana Station with you wearing an engagement ring. People will talk! And as your older brother…”

  At this Annabelle laughed. “An older brother with an entirely different accent to me! We cannot, surely, expect people to believe that we are siblings.”

  “And why not? If it were so unbelievable then we would not have been given these cover stories.” From their position next to the greenhouse door, Nathanial looked down the narrow gangway towards the control deck, where Folkard was making minute course corrections. They would soon be landing. “You do not see the captain complaining.”

  “Why would he? He not only continues to work for the Royal Navy, but also gets to play the part of a space mariner. He’s in his own heaven.” Annabelle gathered herself together, and Nathanial prepared himself for the final salvo. She expected to win this argument, but he would not be beaten. He had studied his new identity in great detail, and had no intention of making alterations now he was only ten minutes away from using it. Indeed, he rather fancied the notion of being someone else for a while. “You should be my fiancé,” Annabelle said, which almost caused Nathanial to choke on the tea he was drinking—finally using a normal cup, something he had
been prevented from doing while in the aether.

  “Your what?” he spluttered, and wiped the spittle of tea off his cravat. “Absolutely not! To be so would require that you and I… No, Annabelle, that is out of the question.”

  “It is only pretend,” she said, nudging him with her elbow in a most familiar manner. “No one will be expecting us to canoodle.”

  Nathanial opened his mouth to speak, and closed it abruptly. In the background he could hear the grating of the liftwood loafers shifting some feet beneath the deck. He turned away from Annabelle and set his course towards the aft of Esmeralda 2, as Annabelle had insisted the flyer be called. She called after him, but he refused to respond. It was absurd to think that he would even pretend to be engaged to her. What would Bedford say? Come to think of, what would Arnaud say when he found out?

  No, Nathanial decided, they would remain brother and sister and that would be the end of it. With this in mind he slipped into the engine room and passed a smile at Seaman Jack Fenn, an engineer drafted from Sovereign at the request of Folkard, and the only one on this mission with no knowledge of its true purpose. Which was just what Nathanial needed; conversation about the performance of the aether propeller. Something safe and normal.

  “Morning, Prof,” Jack said.

  “Is it?” Nathanial was sometimes unsure. They kept the chronometers to Earth time on the Esmeralda 2 for convenience sake, and he had been up for many hours now. Surely it was late afternoon.

  “It is on Mercury.”

  Nathanial eyed Jack suspiciously. He had always liked Jack Fenn, ever since they had—literally—bumped into each other during Nathanial’s first visit to the engine room of Sovereign. He had been delighted to hear that Folkard had requested Jack be seconded to their mission. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “A knack I’ve picked up, I just know. Always been like that.”

  Nathanial smiled. He understood instinct and knack. He had lived with such abilities his entire life. A fact his siblings had always resented him for… Except for Edwin, he had never resented Nathanial.