A Fistful of Dust Read online

  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.” Anot
her 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 fin
ding 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.”