Mundus Cerialis

by Sharon Bidwell

  At this Annabelle could not help but laugh. The young man clearing up the tables looked at her abruptly, then turned away, embarrassed to be seen by her. She shook her head. “No, Nathanial fancies himself my older brother! Indeed, it’s a role that has been forced upon us both by our secret mission. He would be horrified at the suggestion that he and I…” She laughed again.

  “Laughter is always better than tears,” Iris said, smiling warmly. “Then who is the lucky man?”

  Annabelle put a finger to her lip, and waited until she was sure they were alone in the mess hall. It would not do to talk about George in the company of others, especially since she was supposed to be the sister of a wealthy explorer and not the fiancé of the first officer of the Royal Navy’s flagship. Once the hall was empty Annabelle divulged everything, from her first encounter with George in the caverns of Luna, all the way to her asking for his hand over a month ago. The more she spoke the more she felt sadness creeping its way into her heart once again…

  It seemed that sadness was never far from her. Her life was cursed, and it was only a matter of time before that curse damaged her love for George.

  7.

  NATHANIAL KNOCKED ON the door of the lab. A response came quickly, barely audible. He assumed it was an assent to enter, so he opened the door and stepped in. It was as he remembered. Badly lit, a huge wooden table lay down the centre of the room, piled with rocks and dirt and papers stacked in a neat pile. Along both long walls lay cabinets and smaller tables, and the same enormous machines as before, the purpose of which he still did not know. Some resembled oversized drills, others machines for slicing or cutting or polishing. And there, next to the table sat the analyser, as he and Arnaud had named it, a device used to receive light transmitted through a sample from an arc-lamp. At a couple of points on the right hand wall there were pools of brighter electric light, desks illuminated by lights stronger and more suitable for a laboratory than the peculiarly dim ones strung down the middle of the room.

  At one particular desk a man sat with his back to Nathanial. Two things struck him immediately; one, the sandy colour of the man’s hair, and two, his build. Both were completely different from Arnaud’s.

  “Hello?” Nathanial tried tentatively. “I am looking for…” He stopped suddenly as the man turned around, and he found himself looking at a handsome face he almost recognised. Only it was a man much younger than… “Oh, I say, you look rather like Eduard Suess, only…”

  The man smiled warmly and removed himself from his stool. He held out a hand to Nathanial. “I am Franz Seuss,” he said, his Austrian accent thick, “Professor Seuss is my father.”

  Nathanial shook Suess’ hand, and blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

  “I was asked to come here, because of my studies in hydrogeology,” Suess said, his English very good for an Austrian. “They needed a new geologist, and I would be silly not to take up the offer.” He turned away from Nathanial and resumed his position at his desk. “You know of hydrogeology?”

  Nathanial had to confess he did not.

  “It is a study of the distribution and movement of the groundwater in soil and rocks. I have been asked to Mercury to study how the World River relates to…” Suess stopped, frowning, and looked at Nathanial questionably. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Professor Nath… William Brooker,” he said, correcting himself quickly, hoping that Suess did not notice the slip. The young scientist seemed not to. “I am a friend of Doctor Fontaine, and since I was on Mercury I thought I would look in on him.”

  “A house call?” Suess laughed. “Mercury is far for a house call, Professor Brooker. And anyway, Fontaine is no longer here. He was asked to help the miners on Ceres.”

  “He…what?” Nathanial looked around. He should have guessed. The lab was far too tidy for Arnaud. “Ceres? What could interest him there?” Suess opened his mouth to answer, but Nathanial waved it away. “It hardly matters, I suppose. How long has he been gone? And why were we not informed?”

  “We?”

  Nathanial threw the young Austrian a dark look and turned away. He left the lab without another word.

  He had to see Arnaud. There was no other course of action left.

  They would have to go to Ceres.

  Chapter Two

  “Savages in Space”

  1.

  MUCH LIKE A famous fictional traveller created by the French writer, Jules Verne, Arnaud might have conceded that just like Professor Lidenbrock’s nephew, Axel, in Voyage au centre de la Terre, he was far too fond of geology. That he could be distracted by the presence of solid inorganic substances at a time like this bordered on obsession…or possibly shock, or a worrying combination of both.

  Perhaps the civilised part of his mind chose to disbelieve he was being hunted, but his rational mind told him that to linger over yet another amazing find was foolhardy. Still, he needed to rest, did he not? While kneeling to catch his breath, he might as well examine the crystalline fragment he had, literally, stumbled upon.

  Magnifique.

  Arnaud indulged a small smile. At least he was able to temper his enthusiasm with ascetic qualities—a detail that would be most pleasing to some of his acquaintances. To give one’s life to scientific purposes was admirable, but beauteous things, places…and especially people; all these enriched one’s life—a detail that was all too clear when danger lurked close by. Whether Arnaud carried the blood of a mineralogist in his veins was questionable, but he would have called himself happy amid the specimens he was discovering at every turn, if his very life were not in jeopardy because of those chasing him.

  He could hardly believe they had managed to track him to the tunnel entrance, much less followed him down into the centre of the asteroid. Did they know of this hollow inner world—a thing he’d heard no talk of during his time on Messor Base? If not, these men were either brave, foolish, or truly enraged. None of these options boded well. Surely, the miners would grow tired of pursuit, give him up for lost, or at least trapped in this…chamber as punishment enough. Where could he go?

  That fact had not escaped him. Indeed, he would never have tried evasion had he not feared a lynching.

  A few hours ago, he’d stood in Blayney’s office arguing his innocence, aware the declaration fell on the ears of men who did not want to listen, who hated him. Doing the honourable British thing and reporting the dead body had played right into Cadogan and Blayney’s hands. According to Cadogan, Arnaud was the last one seen talking to the murdered man.

  In his defence, Arnaud had argued the last person he had seen Pettitt with was Cadogan, but when Cadogan grinned and asked him whether that was true, he had hesitated. Cadogan had turned the corner before Pettitt had caught up to him. Arnaud went on to say that he hadn’t known the man’s name then and had no reason to kill him, but if there were no witnesses placing Pettitt with Cadogan after that time—or none willing to testify—then it was one man’s word against another.

  To worsen matters, Arnaud had been aware of a background of raised, outraged voices. He’d almost felt relieved when Blayney had ordered Cadogan to take him away, reasoning a locked cell would be some kind of protection until the truth came out.

  Only when Cadogan had said, “Strange place, space. Dark, cold, dangerous. Accidents happen,” had Arnaud realised the true extent of his peril. The rest narrowed down to a scuffle, a little luck—Cadogan had expected the gullible Frenchman to have faith in justice and comply despite his goading—and Arnaud taking flight.

  Instinct had led him to retrace Pettitt’s movements from where he’d found the body and doing so had led him…here. Now he surmised that his only possible means of survival was to disappear into the heart of the asteroid until such time as blood cooled, intellect was regained, and if the universe could be so kind, the real culprit revealed. Instead of arguing his innocence, he might have to wait for divine revelation—a thing that did not sit well with his atheistic heart. He could only hope once sense preva
iled they would seek him out and not simply abandon him. Even if he managed to find his own way out, how would he know it was safe to do so if no one tried to contact him? Even then, could he trust his saviours? In time, he would have to if he did not wish to live out the span of his years…here. Supposing he managed to survive at all.

  With some surprise, he noticed he was rubbing the quartz. It was a wonder he had managed to spot it. The…soil, for want of a better word, had a similar texture to sand, but was pure white with a slight blue cast to it, as did much of the landscape. Cold to the touch, and yet…not ice. Grittier than that. Hard grains in the hand. Arnaud puzzled over it, but the texture was just one small note of puzzlement among many. Lifting his gaze, Arnaud looked out at a frozen waste. Though to call it such did not do it justice. If he could have replaced the pastel colours—predominately white threaded through with pink, blue and lilac, even hints of green—for warmer tones, he would have described this place simply as a jungle.

  His scientific mind wondered, wanted to explore, investigate, catalogue, but his foremost question was could a man survive out here? He didn’t feel cold…yet, but the temperature was decidedly cool. Where he knelt he could feel the slow penetration of creeping chill.

  Pondering his choices, some minutes passed in which his thoughts meandered. When he came aware that he was wasting precious time, self-reproach and anger ensued, even as he accepted that his mind like his body needed rest. The repetitive action of moving his fingers over an object had calmed him. As his pulse eased, and the pounding in his head lessened, Arnaud became aware of his thirst.

  How ironic? Here he was surrounded by what seemed a world of ice and he’d so far spotted no liquid he could consume. The act of running through the frosty air had also dried his throat. It hurt to swallow.

  Ignoring the requirement, Arnaud pushed the concern aside to spend a few moments concentrating on his senses, letting them grow acute, expand outwards. He tuned in to his hearing…and yes, there—a shout far off told him he had to be on his feet and moving. Were any of the posse good trackers? In this terrain it was impossible to move swiftly and not leave some kind of print or evidence of damage to the surrounding foliage. Some of it bent, some snapped. The ground compressed in places to leave prints. He had to find a means to disguise his passage. He was one; they were many; they may have brought resources where he’d had to flee with none. He would soon grow exhausted. Eventually need to sleep, and that presented another problem. While he kept moving, he generated heat, but if he curled up to rest, would he succumb to hypothermia? As yet he wasn’t even shivering, but…

  One problem at a time. Before then he needed to drink.

  Arnaud stood. He resisted looking up, for although the roof of the cavern was distant, he was far too aware there was no sky. Sky would have given him hope for an end to the Arctic terrain, another avenue and, although he had much more to explore, he was as trapped within the asteroid as he would be in an expansive cage. Plenty of room to prowl, but no doorway to freedom.

  Fils de salope.

  Annoyed with himself, Arnaud shook his head refusing to give way to melancholy. Such was not his nature. He was better than this. He resolved first to get away from his pursuers, to locate water, shelter, and then food. He saw himself spending a few weeks if not several months down here, fashioning as comfortable an abode as he could manage for the duration of his stay.

  “During which, my friend, we will get better acquainted.” He tossed the rock into the air, caught and pocketed it with several others. This would be the last. He could not afford to weigh himself down. If he had to spend any length of time here, he would have too many opportunities to hunt for minerals. He would survive and he would not waste his time. He was not a rodent. He was a man, intelligent. He was…a geologist.

  No botanist though, but he needed no such skill or education to know that while some of the plants resembled those on Earth, others were immense and if to be found on his home planet it would be in the deepest areas of jungle or ancient forests visited more by beast than man. They would be green and lush, of course, not white, veined through with blue. Arnaud had examined a few of the plants but they confounded him. Some felt frozen and snapped. Others felt as natural as leaves as he had always known them, and if he closed his eyes he failed to detect a difference. They had flexibility and bent, tore between his fingers. Most, though, felt like succulents with a texture that was at once intriguing and unpleasant.

  Succulents retained water, like cacti in the dessert, but he was not desperate enough to risk poisoning himself quite yet.

  Blowing on his hands, Arnaud tucked them under his armpits—a deed that also hugged his jacket tighter around him. He caught himself mid-action in licking his lips and forced a stop. His lips would dry all the faster, for although he couldn’t say he was in immediate danger of freezing, the wetness dissipated, stretching the skin, desiccating his lips. The tightness around his mouth made his thirst all the more unpleasant.

  Frost descended with a heavy mist as he broke into the next clearing. As uncomfortable as he felt, his situation inspired a modicum of hope. Surely the men would not continue long in this. If he could just find water, and… Arnaud looked at his empty hands, not knowing whether to laugh. He had no means to carry liquid except inside him. If he found water, he would have to drink his fill and keep running. The men behind him would likely have canteens to replenish, and that alone might sustain them, but if he went deeper into the coldest parts of this…jungle, it might deter them. The trouble with that idea was that any means he found to keep warm, they would likely discover, too.

  Even as he resolved to try, and plunged ahead, it crossed Arnaud’s mind that if he found no water soon, he might have to turn around and throw himself on their mercy before that happened.

  “Merde!” Arnaud shouted, drawing up short, at once trying to calm his wildly beating heart, even as he judged whether his cry had carried. He listened but heard nothing other than the squawk of the indignant bird that he had almost stepped on and that, even now, took its cry up and away into the far reaches of the wilderness.

  This wasn’t the first fowl he had encountered since he began his dash into the frozen forest—they looked a little like parrots, but with elongated beaks he could not fathom the use of—but this was the first he had come across lying in his path. If his pursuers failed to hear him, no doubt they’d heard the bird. They might guess that he had disturbed it.

  He strained his hearing to limits he didn’t know he possessed, but heard nothing…until…

  Drip.

  Jerking his head to the right, Arnaud stared in that direction, eyes wide, ears alert, breath held, rigid. Had he imagined…?

  Drip.

  At first heedless of any noise he might make, he ran, stopping short within a few paces. He did not know what dangers might lurk within the plants—had already seen evidence of strange substances strung between some of trees undoubtedly best avoided, though this area seemed to be clear. Also, it wouldn’t do to give his position away had the hunters fallen silent only because they had stopped to listen out for him, but the steady dripping he could now hear called him forwards. Trying for stealth but giving a little leeway to impatience, Arnaud moved beneath great fronds that had the appearance of giant cabbage leaves. They were far stiffer with sharp barbs on the tips as he learned with an “Ow!” and much sucking of his thumb, but they were saturated with droplets. Water fell from jagged fringes of ice above to pool onto the leaves. With care he could tip one down and direct the flow into his mouth.

  The taste was clean and crisp. The water cool but not so cold as to make his teeth chatter. The burning in his throat eased right away. Unable to do otherwise, Arnaud closed his eyes. “Délicieux.” Better than cognac…well, almost. Arnaud grinned stupidly pleased, almost giddy. A dim thought made him wonder whether he was already suffering from an abnormally low body temperature.

  He opened his eyes and blinked. The creature that stared over the lip of t
he leaf looked like a snake except that it had spindly legs and an inquisitive gaze and tilt of its head that Arnaud found rather disturbing. More disturbing than the mere thought that it might have bitten him while he savoured the water, eyes closed, oblivious. He’d not given it a passing thought, but naturally where there was one form of animal, there were bound to be many.

  Stepping back, Arnaud released the leaf with care, partly owing to the prongs, partly because he didn’t want to upset the creature sitting on it. For a moment all he could see was the dark shape through the thinnest parts of the pale leaf and then it scrambled forward and peered over the edge at him.

  Arnaud backed up, considering his options. Were there other creatures such as this upon the leaves? He couldn’t worry. His thirst outgrew his caution. He needed to be quick.

  Moving through the leaves, Arnaud first took care not to impale himself with the spines, which for all he knew had already done him damage, and then to drink as fast as he could. He discovered a couple more of the snake-like beasts on the leaves, but they seemed placid. He came across a small winged insect that he first mistook for a butterfly until it hissed at him. It barely took a moment of thought to leave that leaf alone and to select another. Mostly he was left in peace to quench his thirst.

  His feeling of relief evaporated when he shivered.

  “Come on, Arnaud. Think!” His gaze traversed the topography but his mind remained blank. When an idea erupted he almost slapped himself in the face for not having thought of it sooner. One glance at the leaves he had drunk from told him they would not do. They were not the right consistency and the sharp tips made them unsuitable. Instead, he looked for one of the thicker, fleshier leaves that reminded him of succulents.

  Fleshy was the right word, for when Arnaud selected one and ripped it free, he couldn’t keep from grimacing. All plants were alive but had he just ripped apart some kind of creature without knowing? He couldn’t think about that. His decisions from here out would have to be all about survival.