Mundus Cerialis

by Sharon Bidwell

  Rolling the shell so that he could rest it with the opening pointing slightly away at an angle, he used the beak as a tool. Taking a good grip, he then inserted it in against the outer rim of the shell. The beak was several inches in length, well over a foot. Arnaud had chosen the largest beak of an adult bird on purpose—perfect for the task, perfect for this size of mollusc. Once he’d inserted it as far as it would go, he slid it in a curve towards him while trying to ignore the easy way the beak cut through the flesh within. When he met resistance, he applied more pressure. For a second, his arm shook with the effort, and then he felt the now familiar jolt as he succeeded. In a matter of moments, he had pulled the body whole out of the shell.

  A grunt made him start, but he relaxed as swiftly when he saw Minos had followed him. Although the close attention was strange, he was always aware of the Bubalus watching. So far they had neither harmed him nor let him leave. Minos seemed the most easy-going, the most interested, so Arnaud had named him and taken to talking to him. Besides, without someone to talk to, and his studies, he would have felt too much like a shipwrecked mariner marooned in a land out of time.

  Without waiting, Arnaud cut off the snail’s head so that its suffering was short-lived. The sound that now came from Minos was without doubt one of disgust.

  “I do not blame you,” Arnaud said. He gazed at the pale slug that now lay dead outside of its shell. “It does look most…odd, non? I mean, no?”

  He kept to English with the Bubalus as much as he could in the hope they might pick up enough of the language so that by the time a rescue party arrived—if one ever did—they might be understood. Maybe with perseverance, he could persuade them not to eat the next team.

  Now working with a spearhead, he sliced the flesh thinly, carefully rolling each piece so he could transport the meat to complete the next stage of the process. While he did, he kept talking. “There are many strange things eaten in the…”—he hesitated, considering that the concept of a universe might be too big for a Bubalus—“…world. Some with a look much stranger than this. These…not so much.” Arnaud smiled up at Minos. “I could make a fortune with a little garlic.”

  When Minos lowered his head and looked down at him from under a furrowed brow, Arnaud pointed to the rolls of meat he had prepared. “Escargot,” he said, and started laughing.

  7.

  DESPITE MISTER BLAYNEY’S insistence that the amenities of the base were not at their disposal, Annabelle had insisted on a visit to the canteen. She really wanted to taste this fresh meat Koivunen had told them about, and besides, as she reasoned with Nathanial, if he wished to learn more about Arnaud’s absence, where better than the canteen where the miners would be more relaxed and more open to casual conversation. Nathanial had acquiesced at that. Folkard chose not join them, however, he decided his time would be best served taking the Esmeralda 2 out among the asteroids, in the hope that he could get a heliograph message to the team on Hygeia. The sooner they had Arnaud, the sooner they could find the minerals the Heart claimed were on Ceres.

  “It is a pity the new governor is not ready yet,” Nathanial was saying. “It would be of great assistance to the captain now. Navigating the asteroids requires precise measurements, or a smaller flyer than Esmeralda. Of course, if…” He stopped and looked at Annabelle, who was studiously ignoring him.

  They sat at a table, “beef” stew in a tin bowl before Annabelle. She scooped some and offered the spoon to Nathanial. “You really ought to try this; it’s delicious!”

  “Better than your hash?” he asked, his eyes scouting the room for a likely candidate for conversation.

  “Best beef I’ve tasted in a long while.”

  He took the spoon off her and peered closely at the meat on it. “But is it, though? How can they possibly get fresh beef out here? Perhaps a ruumet breehr?”

  Annabelle was not sure she wanted to continue with the food if that was the case. She had travelled with a caravan on Mars, on the back of a ruumet breehr. They were powerful animals, and she had a lot of respect for them. To be eating one…

  “Hallo!”

  Annabelle looked from the spoon that had been handed back to her and over at the man that had attracted Nathanial’s attention. Dishevelled in his dirty clothes, the man was robust with a deeply lined face. The eyes beneath his spectacles showing a keen intelligence. Clearly not a miner, Annabelle reflected.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Nathanial said, and removed himself from the table before Annabelle could respond.

  She shrugged. It did not matter; she was quite content with her own company. Not that she was alone for long. But how she wished she was. The Finnish man who had greeted them in the bay approached her. He bowed and sat opposite her without even the politeness one would expect upon approaching a lady who sat on her own. Annabelle chose to ignore the insult. The miners had been here for a long time, and such manners were bound to be in little supply.

  “Mister Koivunen, a pleasure. What can I do for you?”

  “It is what I can do for you,” he said, his accent thick, mangling his pronunciation. “Would you like to see more of Messor Base?”

  Annabelle wanted to, and she certainly was finished with her stew, but touring the base with Koivunen was not the ideal situation. There was something about him she did not trust. At that moment she was saved by the return of Nathanial. She looked up at him gratefully.

  “Ann…Marie,” he said, almost slipping up in his excitement, “Doctor Gully wishes to take me to see a chap called Orlondo Quintana, a palaeontologist who works with Arnaud.” He glanced at Koivunen, who had a look of disinterest about him. “Will you take care of my sister while I attend Mister Quintana?”

  Koivunen gave one of his half-hearted bows. “Of course. It will be a pleasure,” he said, offering a smile that Annabelle really did not care for.

  “Thank you.”

  Annabelle barely had a chance to blink at Nathanial’s sudden departure before Koivunen was speaking to her.

  “Where shall we start the tour? I hear the view from the south loading bay is beautiful. The bay is no longer used, so we will be alone. You will like this I think, yes?”

  She wasn’t listening, instead her mind was working overtime. Things were becoming strained between her and Nathanial. He would never have left her behind before they had returned to Earth. The last time he had done so was on Peregrine, but even then he had done his best to find her again. This time…Annabelle was not so sure. He was much more interested in locating Arnaud.

  “Miss Brooker?”

  “Fine,” she said, and forced herself to her feet, “wherever you suggest, Mister Koivunen.”

  Chapter Four

  “All That Remains…”

  1.

  “WHY THE BLOODY hell didn’t you stop him?”

  Blayney stood in the loading bay, looking at the spot once occupied by Brooker’s flyer. He turned on Callaghan again. “You’re a bloody idiot, you are! What if he finds out that Fontaine isn’t on Hygeia? How will we look then? You obviously don’t care about your job, do you, boyo?”

  “But…” Callaghan looked around helplessly, but there was no help coming his way from the other miners, who were well used to Blayney’s moods. They all kept their heads down and continued on with their work. “Boss, what could I do?”

  “You tell me!” Blayney pushed his way past Callaghan and called over to another miner. “Wright, you just back from provender?”

  Paul Wright looked up from the ore he was loading. “Yes, boss! Brooker was in the canteen, too, with his sister. Left with Lester,” he said, derision escaping his mouth with the name, “and Miss Brooker went with the Fin.”

  That came as a surprise to Blayney; he didn’t think a man like Eero would have been Miss Brooker’s cup of tea. Didn’t he see an engagement ring on her finger, too? Well, while the mice were away… As for the professor; Gully and his butties were just the kind of people Blayney didn’t want Brooker talking to. Controlling the mine
rs’ tongues was one thing, but keeping people like Gully under control was another.

  “Thank you. At least someone knows what’s going on here!” He turned back to Callaghan. “I’ll deal with you when I get back now.” He had to find a solution, put Brooker and his party off the scent, and he knew just the way.

  2.

  ORLONDO QUINTANA WOULD normally have been Nathanial’s kind of hands-on palaeontologist. He could tell by the calluses on the Spaniard’s hands that he liked to get involved, although he clearly did his best to appear presentable. Even now he was dressed in a smart suit, albeit a dusty one. He handed the remains of a skull to Nathanial, who took it politely, but did not look at it.

  “Gully’s people, they do an amazing job out on Pallas! Some of the best archaeologists I have known. He borrowed me some of his team. I work alone mostly, you see?”

  “Yes, but you called Doctor Fontaine in from Mercury?”

  Quintana smiled, his rheumy eyes twinkling. “Of course! I needed a good mineralogist, and he was well recommended. Plus,” at this he winked, “he likes his cognac as much as me.” Nathanial smiled indulgently, memories of Arnaud’s insistence on sharing his cognac on Mercury filling his mind. Quintana continued. “I have found some kind of…well, can only call them ruins. It wasn’t easy. Blayney, he’s the local pit-boss—you have met him, sí?”

  “I have had that pleasure, yes,” Nathanial said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice.

  “He will keep us out there weeks at a time. Does not like us much, I think. Took us a long time to arrange for Gully’s people to come to Hygeia, but this we did.” Quintana pointed a chubby finger at the skull. “This I found in the ruins; I have seen such remains on Phobos. Have you been to Phobos?”

  “No, I have not. Mister Quintana, please, as much as I am…”

  Quintana held up a hand. “Orlondo, please! Arnaud often told me of his friend, a Nathanial Stone. You might know him, sí?” He waited for Nathanial’s response, but none was given. “Hmm. He, too, has ginger hair. Like you.”

  Nathanial could not help but smile. “I fear you are leading me to a place I cannot follow. I maintain I am Professor William Brooker, and further, it is in your best interests to accept that as true.”

  Quintana held Nathanial’s eyes in his, then nodded with a smile. “Su secreto es mi secreto, Señor Brooker.”

  “Gracias.”

  “Arnaud told me that Professor Stone would be very interested in my work here. But you…” He shook his head. “Why are you not interested?”

  “I’m sorry,” Nathanial said, realising he had offended Quintana, but equally pleased to hear that Arnaud had talked fondly of him. “I am interested, but I am also anxious to see Doctor Fontaine again. I suppose my impatience has made me appear dismissive. Perdóname?”

  Quintana looked at Nathanial for a moment. “Mucho secretos,” he said quietly, then pointed at the skull. “Please do look. What do you know of Vulcan?”

  “Very little, only that the asteroid belt is all that remains of that lost world. At least that is the perceived academic wisdom. It has never truly interested me, but you believe there is a connection between Vulcan and Phobos?”

  “Yes, there is a monument on Phobos near where I found this.”

  “But you said you found this on Hygeia.”

  “Sí, sí! But this is same.”

  “Oh, I see. You found similar bones on Phobos? Why do you suppose that is? Parallel evolution? Although, of course, we have never found any species that looks human on the other worlds, it does not rule out that other species could evolve on more than one world. Unless…” At the new thought Nathanial smiled. The palaeontologist had drawn his interest after all. “Aether flight was possible before mankind developed it? Yes, yes, we know that is possible from the Heart…”

  “Now you understand!” Quintana’s smiled widened, and he took the skull off Nathanial. “Arnaud told me tales of this Heart, tales you told him!” He nodded. “I was right.”

  His cover was blown, Nathanial knew it. “Por favor, continue.”

  “An ancient civilization, like the Moon Men Arnaud told me about… Could they have…ah…originated on Vulcan?”

  “I do not believe so, no, the Heart came from beyond the asteroid belt. I am…” Nathanial stopped and clicked his fingers. “May I?” he asked and retrieved the skull from Quintana. The size of its cranium, the length of the jaw… Of course! “It’s a Drobate skull! Sorry, one of the Moon Men about which Arnaud informed you—which, I should point out, was not his place to mention.”

  “Secreto,” Quintana said, waving it away. “I would like to see these…Drobates, but your government will not allow me to Lunar. So I come here. Not as nice I think.”

  “Perhaps, but this discovery adds so much to what we know, or don’t know, about the Drobates. They once existed on Vulcan and Phobos. This is incredible!” Nathanial handed the skull back to Quintana, a plan forming in his mind. He could use Quintana’s enthusiasm to his advantage. “Can you take me to Hygeia? I would like to see these ruins myself, and perhaps Doctor Fontaine will be of help, too, since he is already there.”

  “He is not! I get so excited about my work and I thought…” Quintana’s expression swiftly changed, sadness replacing his previous enthusiasm for his work. “Arnaud has not been seen for…one month? Yes, one month!”

  “But Blayney said he’s still on…” Nathanial’s mood darkened. All thoughts of Quintana’s discovery on Hygeia vanished. “Damn that blackguard! Excuse me, Mister Quintana, but it appears Blayney and I need to have a much more frank talk.”

  3.

  DESPITE PROJECTING SOME perverse merriment into the day, by the time Arnaud took his food to the area where he could cook it, his usual exuberance had once again faded. When he reached up to brush away an irritating lock of hair it was to discover beads of sweat. He didn’t need to feel his too-hot forehead to know his temperature had risen. He might have thought it was owing to the bird meat he’d eaten, but this wasn’t the first time fever had overcome him.

  “Non, monami, non.” It did little good to scold himself, but someone had to. He was strong, but the flu-like effects of the contagious disease transmitted by local insects often left him debilitated. He likened it to someone suffering with malaria having a relapse.

  As fast as he could, Arnaud reached into the sack, pulled out the meat and lay out the slices, unrolling them onto the sphere-shaped fungus he had found. At once they began to sear, the meat contracting, changing from a light grey to solid white. When he was happy with one side, Arnaud used the spearhead to flip them over. These mushrooms were so cold that should his fingers happen to brush one, he’d be lucky not to leave skin behind.

  Minos stood nearby watching. Although the Bubalus didn’t seem to like his choice of menu, they regarded him curiously because of it. Minos had once gone so far as to take a slice of snail and set about examining it, prodding it, possibly trying to figure out how it had changed in consistency. While this particular Bubalus was no leader, Arnaud couldn’t help contemplating that he should be. Minos’ inquisitive nature was often met as sceptically as Arnaud’s behaviour by the rest of the Bubalus, but Arnaud considered that quirk to be a most redeeming quality.

  “I will tell you a little about myself, non?” He couldn’t hope Minos would understand much of what he was saying, much less listen, but one thing Arnaud lacked and sorely missed was company. Maybe man had more in common with beasts than he realised, for he needed his own kind. The sound of his own voice would have to suffice and maybe something would get through.

  Arnaud talked about his life growing up as the youngest son of a popular and affluent politician in France, of his love for geology and mineralogy. All this, and not once did Minos show any sign that he was doing anything but listening. “I have always known my mind, Pére always told me to know what I wanted, to see my future before me, and to never waver. And I have not, but last year…” He paused here, and looked down. “I
t is difficult, non, when society is against what you are? If ever I see Nathanial again it will be a most sad time… I cannot… Non, he cannot…”

  Arnaud looked up from the cooking snails, to Minos’ impassive face. “Je suis fou! I am talking to a buffalo!”

  He was almost done with his task and with talking. In minutes, he would have cooked snail, but alas, still no garlic. Although his circumstances seemed dire, Arnaud couldn’t help grinning. He didn’t know whether he had invented this method of cooking or someone had already discovered it, but he was grateful. As the first slice came off ready, Arnaud grabbed it with both hands, tearing great chunks off with his teeth, and devoured it.

  A little rubbery. Not unlike seafood, but with a meatier taste. To a starving man? Magnifique!

  4.

  ANNABELLE THOUGHT SHE knew boredom, after months-at-a-time trapped inside an aether flyer, but she had been mistaken. Eero Koivunen was quite possibly the most tedious person she had ever met. She had travelled widely, more so than most women of twenty, but she had yet to visit Finland, and if Koivunen was any indication, she suspected she was missing nothing. Of course, she expected most Fins to not engage in talk about the ever-exciting topic of mining.

  “This is different to normal mining, but it is better than boghead coal,” he was saying, laughing to himself.

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. If the view had been beautiful that would have, at least, been something. Instead all she could see from the south loading bay was more asteroids. Thousands of them drifting in the aether, freer than she. “Mister Koivunen, I think I would like to return to my flyer now.”

  “Call me Eero,” he tried once again, placing his arm over her shoulders.

  She stepped aside. “That would hardly be proper. Whatever would my fiancé say?”

  “He is not here.”

  At this Annabelle turned on him, incensed. “And if he were would you carry on in such a way? Really, Mister Koivunen, my brother asked you to look after me not…”