Nathanial swallowed. “I do. He was so infuriating, always drinking that damned cognac of his. Never taking anything serious. He nearly drowned, but I saved him…”
Annabelle smiled sadly. She had not thought much about Arnaud after leaving Mercury the first time, but she had been looking forward to seeing him once more. Only… “What happened to him? You do not need to tell me if you do not wish,” she added quickly, noticing the pained expression on his face.
He sat on the bed, his body almost folded, like the air had been drained out of it, and he told her. She listened intently, her mind seeing images she would rather not. The more he talked the more her own pain deepened. How could they go on like this? Losing more as they travelled. She had wanted adventure, had welcomed the chance to accompany Nathanial to Venus when he received the request for help from Jericho. No, that was not true; she had positively thrust herself upon him. And after that adventure had she been content to return to Earth as Nathanial had wanted? No, she had insisted they go on to Mercury.
In fact she could say it was all her fault. If she had only listened to Nathanial then none of this would have happened. She would be whole, and Nathanial would not be in pain. She could not answer as to whether Arnaud would be alive, but certainly Edwin would have been. It had been her insistence on going to Mercury that had started the chain of events that had led them to their involvement in this mission.
“It must be so hard for you,” she said, “walking like a god amongst mortals. No wonder you wanted Arnaud’s company so badly.”
Nathanial lifted his eyes. “I do not understand,” he said, a shadow across his expression. Annabelle could only wonder what was going through his brain.
“A genius like you, dear Nathanial, of course you need someone like Arnaud with you, an intellect to challenge your own. I’m sorry neither the captain nor I can be that kind of person, but we do offer you other things. You are not alone,” she said softly, placing a hand gently on his knee.
“It’s not like that, Annabelle. It was never about intellect. I…” There was a real struggle going on, although Annabelle could not fathom why. His eyes travelled across her face, searching for something. “We must take his remains back to Earth, to his family.”
“No,” she said gently, “you are not thinking clearly. Four weeks inside a wooden box? Can you imagine how such…” She winced. “Fresh meat would not survive such a journey. It would be most unpleasant.”
“But…”
“We can perform some kind of service here, on Ceres. I’m sure even Blayney would not deny us that. They have a furnace here, we can cremate his remains.” Juddering breaths of air came from Nathanial, and Annabelle found herself holding him in her arms. “Oh, sweet Nathanial, I am so sorry. We have lost so much. You, me… Sometimes I think I have lost more than I know.”
“We have lost each other, too,” Nathanial said through the tears.
“No,” Annabelle said, running her fingers through his hair soothingly, “we hang on by a thread still, but if you are willing to strengthen that, then so am I.”
With a final sniff, Nathanial pulled away from Annabelle. Using the sleeve of his coat he wiped his eyes. “Very poetic, Arnaud would have approved,” he said, laughing lightly. “Do you mean this? I feel I have lost your respect, that I was not there for you when you needed me most.”
Annabelle considered this. And it was not without some truth. “And if I had not insisted on going to Mercury to see Uncle Ernest, then we would not be here now. There is blame enough to share.”
“Yes, but I believe that people come into our lives for a reason.” He offered her a smile. “We are led to those who help us to grow, if we let them. Do not blame yourself, Annabelle; if you had not dragged me to Mercury then I would never have met Arnaud. And that, I believe, would have been a loss.”
“Another for the list,” Annabelle said, smiling despite the hurt. She stood up, wincing slightly at the pressure on her muscles. “Let us go to Blayney, and insist on a service for Arnaud. I think he will be willing, after all Jacob has surely chewed him out by now.”
“Yes.” Nathanial stood, too, and offered Annabelle his arm. “I do not envy Blayney if he has incurred the wrath of the mighty Jacob Folkard.”
2.
“WHAT THE HELL is that?” Wright had never sounded so scared.
Callaghan was about to curse him—he didn’t have time for histrionics—when he turned his head and looked at the beast Wright was talking about.
He didn’t know what it was. Well, it was another beast, the same as those he’d slaughtered to be sure, but this one was bigger, muscled, had huge horns, markings on its skin, carried a spear. It blew out through its nostrils and Callaghan heard the sound of a bull about to charge as well as saw the puff of air emerge as white mist in the cool atmosphere. It had tusks and murder in its eyes.
“There are more!”
Adults? Then those others are young?
He didn’t stop to think, just shoved Wright away from him, turned and ran. He didn’t look back to see whether Wright followed him; didn’t once look to see whether he made it. He had to get back to warn the boss. Had to get the hatch closed.
He made it to the entrance, aware he lost at least two men on the way, but the moment he turned it was to face a great bull coming at him full-pelt.
“Push! Shove!” He tried to do it himself, but it was useless, and then the bull was there forcing its way in, horns and spear cutting up men. He turned and ran, leaving the rest to get the door closed if they could. If they failed, someone had to survive to give the warning.
He fled to get Blayney. He was supposed to be in charge. Let him figure out what to do.
3.
IF ARNAUD HAD thought being slung over Minos’ back uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to what he was suffering now. He was being carried, only this time by the throat. If he let go of that great forearm he would choke. If he couldn’t get Minos to let him go, he wouldn’t be able to get another word out. If the Bubalus didn’t release him, he would suffocate. The word began to dim, turn a little grey.
Then mercifully the pressure released. A rush of air blew past Arnaud’s ears, stirred his hair. He sucked it down even as he landed and bounced. He was so taken with breathing again that it took moments for him to realised he’d been thrown. Why then was he not hurting? As the world grew bright again, he glanced around.
He hung several feet from the ground, cast into one of the great white ice webs he had often seen. He tried to turn his head and couldn’t. Neither could he move his legs, and one of his arms had stuck fast. He had partial movement only in his left.
“Minos!” His shout was only just shy of a scream. He didn’t want to die…like this. Anything but… “Please!” The Bubalus was already turning away, lifting his spear. Throwing back his head, bellowing, he charged. Presumably to join the confrontation they had witnessed. Arnaud hadn’t had time to process the details before Minos had turned on him, and now he found himself ensnared.
Left alone, Arnaud cast his gaze about trying to see from which direction the danger would come. How big a spider? How big? The size of bones on the ground was not encouraging. He had to cut himself free somehow. Stretching with his free hand he managed to reach the fastening to his bag. Undoing it was tedious and consuming precious time he was sure he did not have.
Trying not to let his heart race, mindful to breath, to blink back unbidden tears so he could see, Arnaud took what felt like many minutes but was probably only one or two to fish out the spearhead. Was he truly crying? Arnaud stifled a laugh. Well, why not? He was crying and laughing by turn, aware that it was unwise to cause vibrations in the web but equally that it was too late to worry about that. Every movement, every act of breathing sent alerts along the threads.
Ignoring the sounds of distant fighting and anything other than the thought of getting free, Arnaud’s world narrowed down to him against the web.
Do not drop it. Do not drop it. Althoug
h Arnaud didn’t hold out much hope that the spearhead would protect him from a giant spider, maybe he could break the threads holding him. He held his breath as he reached down, turning the blade around. Alas, his arm caught and he had to jerk himself loose, the spearhead slipping in his hand. The sound that left his mouth sounded too much like a whimper. He was gripping the blade almost too tightly so that he struggled to manoeuvre it. Suppressing his panic, he tried again and almost shouted out in triumph when he managed to cut a couple of the threads. The smile fell from his face when the third one did not give so easily and snagged the spearhead. It wasn’t stuck, but he struggled with it and every tug sent vibrations in every direction.
He had to get free before his luck run out, but as Arnaud saw movement from the corner of his eye he knew he had no more time left.
4.
“I HAVE SEEN workhouses run better!” Folkard bellowed, staring Blayney down across the desk. “You have a rapist working here, knowingly so if I am to believe Mister Wendt, and then you lie about the location of Doctor Fontaine in the most barefaced manner I have ever seen. Do you realise that if Wendt had not heard the commotion in the south loading bay, Miss Brooker would have been violated? What do you have to say for yourself, man?”
Under normal circumstances Folkard would have been impressed by the steel Blayney was showing, but these were far from normal circumstances. The Welshman took the accusations on the chin and allowed Folkard to finish before he spoke.
“What occurs on this base is none of your concern, boyo, I am the authority here, not some jumped up captain who ferries around wealthy scientists. If I were you I’d get back in that flyer of yours and leave Messor Base.”
Folkard smiled at this. Miss Annabelle was right; there was something unusual going on, something that Blayney wished to keep hidden. Folkard sat down. He was going nowhere until the man gave a full account of himself. Besides which, there were minerals on this asteroid that would be of immeasurable help to Grant and his efforts on Earth.
“This is what is going to happen, Mister Blayney, you will tell me the whereabouts of Fontaine, and also what is so secretive that you wish us off this base. And if I am not satisfied with your story, I will have you removed from your position.” For a moment he allowed Blayney to stew under his glare, before he looked away and picked up the picture on the desk. “I’m sure your fellows will not look down on you when you return to Wales.”
Finally Blayney snapped. “I don’t know what you think your game is, Matheson, but you’re playing against the wrong man here!” Blayney leaned forward, his brown eyes speaking of fury, and also worry. This was a man with something to hide if ever Folkard had seen one. “Just who do you bloody well think you are? I do not need to explain myself to you.”
“Very well.” Folkard got to his feet, and smiled politely. “I have given you an opportunity, and you have squandered it. When we next meet, you shall understand a…”
The door to Blayney’s office flew open and a miner who could have been no more than twenty rushed in, blood on his clothes, his hair wild and wet. No, Folkard realised, as the boy drew nearer, it was not sweat or water, but more blood.
“What the deuce?”
A look of horror swept across Blayney’s face. And something else. It was the look of a man who knew his world was about to collapse around him.
“Boss, they’re coming! We tried to stop them, but they’re right behind me!”
Blayney darted around his desk, grabbing the young man by his shoulder, verily shaking him. “How? You were supposed to take care of it, not lead them here! Where are the others?”
“Dead, they’re all dead. Those things tore them apart!” The boy looked at Blayney wildly. “I’m sorry, but they’re…animals! I thought if I got you more meat you’d be pleased, but I didn’t realise… I’m sorry.”
Blayney released the young man with disgust and turned on Folkard. “Now we’ll see if your bite is as good as that bark of yours, butty.”
Folkard frowned, surprised at the mounting aggression in Blayney’s eyes. “What the devil is going on? Who’s coming?”
“The horned beasts of hell, that’s who!”
Chapter Seven
“The Battle of Occator Six”
1.
ARACHNIDA. ARANEAE. CLASS and order of air-breathing joint-legged invertebrates, otherwise known as spiders. Arnaud was no entomologist and many would argue that arachnids weren’t insects, but right now all Arnaud could think was unrepeatable.
These were white. They were many. His terror was no less than if he’d faced a single giant. In a sense, these were worse. He could already imagine them crawling over his skin. They came down, hanging on thin threads. One landed on the web and…hesitated. The others waited. Although the question of why moved through his mind, gratitude for the reprieve and the horror of what he still faced tore into him. He had no defence against these creatures. They would crawl over his face, into his hair, find the gaps in his clothing. If their bites were poisonous he was already dead. Even if they weren’t, death could come in numbers. He’d be able to shut his eyes, close his mouth, but they could invade his ears, his nose. It was all Arnaud could do to keep from shuddering.
The spider wasn’t close enough to examine truly so he couldn’t tell whether it had eight eyes, but it seemed to have far more legs. Technically, someone like Nathanial would likely argue this was no arachnid. Arnaud didn’t care how a scientist would define the thing, it still terrified him.
As slowly and carefully as he could, he tried to drag the blade through more of the threads. He was aware of the single spider now moving towards him but he didn’t let himself think about it. He worked steadily trying to concentrate on haste over speed. More threads broke and his weight shifted. The spider moved forwards and now Arnaud could see it. Two large eyes at the front and a strong… What was the word? Chel… Chelicerae. That was it. The mouth parts, which included the fangs. As crazy as it was, Arnaud examined it as he cut almost analytically. He was wide awake, his body zinging with adrenaline. His mind was screaming. The only way he could keep calm was to analyse.
Spiders weren’t pack hunters—he seemed to recall reading that somewhere—as they were cannibals. Buffalo weren’t. Why couldn’t the logic of this place work like that on Earth? He’d have given just about anything to see these things turn on each other.
Distracting his mind worked to ward off his panic, until he had extracted the right side of his body. Now he needed to cut the left. The moment he reached over the thing sprang at him. It landed on the back of his hand and that was almost enough to make him scream. When it bit, the pain was so terrible he couldn’t even think, let alone react to it.
2.
PANDEMONIUM! IT WAS a twenty minute walk from the infirmary to Blayney’s office, made even longer by the failure of Annabelle’s leg to work properly. During the long walk she had told Nathanial all about Koivunen’s attack, and the subsequent rescue by a German miner called Wendt, and the damage Koivunen had done to her leg. Nathanial determined that he now owed the Fin two lumps, one for the leg, and one for Annabelle. As if she had not been through enough in the last six months.
But it looked as if Koivunen was the least of their worries. Miners were rushing all around them, most of them carrying some kind of tool—everything from pickaxes to drill bits. And all wielding them like they were weapons. In the last year Nathanial had seen a readiness for battle on several occasions.
He stopped one of the miners, and recognised Zachery Flint. “What’s going on, man?”
Flint pulled away. “We’re under attack! Every able bodied man is ordered to report to section Occator Six.”
“Under attack by whom?” Annabelle asked, dodging out of the way of a group of mean looking miners. She watched them go, then glanced at Nathanial. He knew that look in her eyes. She was almost looking forward to getting involved.
“Beasts from hell itself,” Flint said, “the boss is at Occator Six now. I suggest y
ou join us, Brooker, that is if you don’t mind a bit of blood on your hands.”
“I have had enough blood on my hands for one life, thank you.”
Flint looked him up and down. “I doubt that, toffs like you wouldn’t know the meaning of hard work. Why don’t you run back to your flyer with the lady here? Reckon you’ll be safe there. At least your captain knows to get involved when he’s needed.”
Nathanial supposed he should have felt offended by the accusation, but he knew it was merely a consequence of his cover. What did any of the men on Messor Base know of Nathanial Stone, and the sacrifices he had made to keep the Empire safe? Would they even care? He doubted it.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a tugging of his arm. “Nathanial, we should help.”
“Of course we should, but your leg…”
“Will suffice.”
Nathanial sighed. “Very well, the adventure never ends. Do you know where this Occator Six is?”
“I do not, but I think if we follow that man we will find out.”
Nathanial watched Flint’s retreating back and got that sinking feeling again. Once more, it seemed, they were about to get involved in events which had little to do with them. He really would have to step out of this life at some point soon.
3.
ORDERS WERE BEING given when they arrived, a crowd of miners being moved into position by Blayney while up near the front of the corridor Folkard was commanding a diminishing group of miners. Most of the miners were shorter than Nathanial and from his vantage point he got a good look at the enemy.
At first he thought they were bulls, but looking closer he saw they were more akin to buffalos—water buffalos if he wasn’t mistaken. They stood on their hind legs, their skin dark and thick. The ones at the nearest edge of the tunnel, opened into the corridor by a hatch that had virtually been torn off its hinges, had slashes and cuts, dark red blood on display, but the miners didn’t seem to be stopping them. Indeed many of the miners were either dead or lay dying on the floor, spears and knives embedded deep into them. Despite Folkard’s best efforts to contain them, the buffalo creatures were pushing their way forward.
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