Mundus Cerialis

by Sharon Bidwell

  “It is my experience that the locals do not go to war without reason.”

  “The death of their children is not enough?”

  “It is, but this…” Folkard gestured ahead. The main battle was not far off now. “I…have a bad feeling.” He went on to explain that when Callaghan had burst in—Arnaud had identified him by his description—screaming about beasts from hell, he had also referenced procuring more meat.

  It took a few seconds for Arnaud’s sluggish brain to absorb the information and then he felt as if he would vomit. “I recall some…enticing smells from the canteen though I never had opportunity to partake.” Thank goodness. “Do you think they realised?”

  “That they were slaughtering young, or that these creatures were in any form intelligent?” Folkard shrugged. “Who’s to know?” He took one look at Arnaud. “I feel rather sickened myself, Doctor. I can only imagine how you feel having lived with them these past weeks.”

  He must look worse than he thought if Folkard was about to deduce so much from one glance. Arnaud chose not to tell Folkard that the Bubalus had eaten men. It seemed a more fitting end than he had previously considered, but he did not know how the captain would react. He was sure Nathanial would be more understanding…perhaps.

  Thoughts of strategy escaped him. When Folkard told him to keep close, Arnaud followed. The world he’d lived in for the last few weeks was strange enough, but now, these events were bizarre.

  “We will never break through.” Folkard drew up short, the tone in his voice conveying so many emotions at once.

  “Oui, we will.”

  Folkard shot him a look. Arnaud reached into his pockets and took a stone in each hand. “These are all the passage we need. Trust me.”

  “I only hope you are right.”

  Arnaud hoped so, too. Either they would make it through or die in the attempt. Only one thought bolstered his resolve. Somewhere in the midst of this mêlée was Nathanial…and the enchanting mademoiselle, of course.

  3.

  TIME WAS UP. Almost.

  “Annabelle, get behind me!” Nathanial shouted over the noise of miners dying.

  She glanced back at him, indecision in her eyes. She still held the Peacemaker, safe behind the few remaining miners, but that position was soon to change.

  “Now!”

  Surprise shot across her face, but she did as she was told. Blayney looked around, and noticed Annabelle retreat. He too stepped back, keeping to the far side of the corridor, as far from the dynamite as possible.

  Nathanial had been right. Blayney was a man without any sense of honour. Hungry for the power he held while in charge of Messor Base, but with little consideration for those under his charge. On the way to collect the dynamite and detonators, Nathanial had tried to cajole some information out of Wendt, but the German would say little, other than to confirm Nathanial’s suspicions that things were not as they seemed on Ceres. Only Blayney could give the answers that were needed.

  When this was all over, Nathanial had every intention of getting them. First Arnaud, and now possibly Folkard, too… Blayney had a lot to answer for.

  “Bereit?”

  Nathanial looked across at Wendt. He really should learn more German, but nonetheless he nodded, assuming he understood correctly. It was time to end this.

  He wanted to call Jack back; he would miss the man’s conversation, but Jack was too important in keeping the buffalos contained.

  He wound the final piece of wire to the terminal on the plunger, and looked up. He paused. The buffalos at the front seemed to stop, for the moment ignoring the miners who continued to hit at them. As one they lifted their snouts and sniffed. They turned, their dark eyes seeking out…

  Nathanial looked back. At the lone man standing there.

  Blayney. The buffalos were looking directly at him.

  “Oh my God, it’s him,” Nathanial whispered, “it’s all because of him.”

  4.

  MANY BROKE AWAY as soon as they became aware of the minerals, but they were mostly the smaller creatures, the females and younger males. The Bubalus growled, but still gave ground, though reluctantly. Arnaud had so far not figured out how they detected the presence, but as the stones had a physical effect on him, maybe they had a similar effect on the Bubalus. He could well understand why the Bubalus wouldn’t want to be near anything that weakened them. Those tempted to rush him and Folkard were wary of the sight of Folkard’s revolver. Clearly, they had learned of guns.

  The noise started to die down but the tension grew ever thicker if that were possible. Despite their dislike of the stones the Bubalus would not yield for long. Arnaud raised one hand in the air, holding one of the largest samples he had found, and shouted. “Minos!”

  All noise faded to silence. A strange hush descended and Arnaud moved through the gathering, Folkard beside him. He still couldn’t see through to the corridor though.

  “Who’s there?” A voice broke through, hesitant.

  “Captain Matheson and Doctor Fontaine,” Folkard shouted back.

  A ripple of, Arnaud wasn’t sure what, seemed to go through the men ahead. There were murmurs. The Bubalus responded with grunts. The tension again began to mount.

  Arnaud cried out. “It’s Callaghan they want. He killed their young.” He wasn’t sure he was happy handing a man over, but he at least needed the men in the corridor to understand. He edged closer. If he could not find a solution, he wanted very much for him and Folkard to be on the other side when things got worse. He watched for signs that one might rush him. When he’d advanced several more steps and could find a way through, he said; “They were using these creatures for meat. They want Callaghan.”

  “Ah…Arnaud.” Folkard touched him on the arm. “I do believe we are standing in all that remains of Callaghan.”

  Not wanting to, but having no choice, Arnaud looked down. Merde!

  5.

  SHE’D HEARD THE names, they all had. She just couldn’t believe it. Annabelle looked for Nathanial, but although she could see the top of his head and identify him by his height and ginger hair, he wasn’t looking her way and others prevented her from having a clear view. Losing Arnaud had been one death too many, though they were all that, but especially after…Edwin. The look in Nathanial’s eyes, the expression on his face… The memory of those pains would not go away and she longed to see joy instead of devastation on his face again, but they were not safe yet.

  Arnaud? Was it possible? Folkard would not lie, but maybe he had made a mistake.

  “It’s Callaghan they want. He killed their young.”

  She almost cried out when she heard that accent, but anger boiled her blood and she rounded on Blayney. The only thing that prevented her from screeching in his face was that she didn’t know what would set off another attack.

  “You showed him Arnaud’s remains. You said…”

  “They were using these creatures for meat. They want Callaghan,” Arnaud said.

  She would be sick. She had eaten… No. She would not faint and if she needed to be ill, she would do that later, when and if there was time. Something must have shown on her face for Blayney flinched back.

  “You knew.” She barely whispered but Blayney stared at her and she saw the guilt in his eyes. The look of a trapped animal.

  She was aware of the crowd parting, of Arnaud coming forward. She looked for Nathanial but to her surprise he hung back. His gaze was set on Arnaud, but it was as if he had no faith in what his eyes told him. Arnaud glanced at Nathanial, a more direct look, but then turned away and faced the buffalo.

  “Minos?”

  Unbelievably, Arnaud seemed to be talking to one of the creatures. “There is too much loss on both sides.”

  In reply, those dark eyes moved, studying Arnaud from the hand he held up in the air displaying some kind of rock, to his jacket. The buffalo seemed interested in several strange white threads which were stuck to the outside of Arnaud’s coat. Arnaud waited. The creature lo
oked at others around it. A strange, silent communication seemed to take place.

  “Minos? What will it take to stop this?” Arnaud asked.

  The buffalo pointed straight at Blayney, and then made a gesture with its hand to its chest and then to its lips. For a second it looked as if Arnaud would close his eyes, but then he took a breath. “They will leave us alone if Blayney dies.”

  Blayney barked out a disbelieving laugh. For a second he seemed sure of himself, then his confidence wavered. No one was moving. She saw anger set in. His expression hardened.

  “Wendt, blow them back to hell!”

  Still no one moved.

  “Wendt?” Blayney sounded lost, as if he might cry.

  Something about this did not make sense; how could these creatures know Blayney was responsible? “Doctor Fontaine…why him?”

  “Raison?” For a moment Arnaud did not seem to understand, but then something lit up in his eyes. “The blood, oui!” He pointed at Blayney. “Le sang de L’Enfant!”

  Annabelle’s French was rusty, but she knew enough to understand Arnaud’s meaning. “You are quite sure?”

  He barely hesitated, and she was certain it was more a case of knowing what would happen next than because he harboured any doubt.

  “Oui.”

  She had one shot left.

  She lifted the gun and shot Blayney in the head.

  The body dropped.

  Annabelle lowered her hand. It had been so quick, Blayney probably hadn’t even realised what was about to happen. She stared down at him. “That’s more mercy than you showed their young,” she told his corpse and then stepped back.

  Everyone copied her action, lining the corridor walls. The creatures flowed in, picked up Blayney and then, on the way out, gathered what remained of Callaghan.

  One paused in the entrance, turned back to look at Arnaud, the same one he had spoken to, she believed. It made another quite different gesture with its hands. Fingers entwined making a fist around a spear with both hands, bowing to tap both hands and spear to its forehead. She had no idea what that meant but Arnaud seemed to understand. He nodded, returned the gesture with only a rock in his hands, and then it left.

  6.

  IT TOOK OVER a day to restore some kind of order to Messor Base; Occator Six had been sealed off until the authorities had been informed and a decision was made on how to deal with the Bubalus. In the meantime Folkard had given temporary command of the base to Lester Gully, since he was the senior archaeologist and had plenty of administration work under his belt—Nathanial also thought appointing him was Folkard’s way of shaking up the status quo on Messor Base, since most of the miners regarded the doctor with a degree of derision. Gully had immediately enlisted Wendt as his liaison; he was aware of the difficulties he would be facing. It seemed to be a good arrangement and even now, as Nathanial sat on the steps of the Esmeralda’s airlock door, it looked like some kind of order had been restored.

  The base itself was quieter than usual, depleted at it was of so many of the miners who had been enjoying a break from their duties on the asteroids. Work continued out there, while a skeleton crew was assembled from various serritor details.

  Late last night Folkard and Annabelle had been found debating what was to be done. Nathanial tried to stay neutral, but he listened with rapt attention. Folkard was all for informing the British government and subjugating the Bubalus, after all Messor Base was a British instillation and the Empire’s interests had to be served. Annabelle was very much against that idea; the only reason the Bubalus attacked was because of the despicable actions of Blayney and a select number of miners. Slaughtering the young just to get a richer menu! Until that had transpired the Bubalus had kept to themselves; for years no one on Messor Base had even known there was an indigenous intelligent species on Ceres. In her opinion they should simply be left alone again.

  Ultimately, with a little intervention from Nathanial, they agreed on a compromise. Folkard would write up a report and have it delivered to Syrtis Major; Sovereign was due to stop at Mars. Fortunately it was nearly in alignment with Ceres and so they would make planetfall in a little more than a month, if Folkard recalled the navigation tables correctly, and Routledge, the governor of the British colony, could then pass the report on to Captain Theobald, who would return it the Admiralty. Then it would be left in the hands of better men to decide the fate of Messor Base. It seemed like a good arrangement, and that morning Orlondo Quintana had agreed to take the report with him, as he was returning to Mars to insist on another chance to explore Phobos. Before he went, Nathanial had asked Folkard to recommend that Quintana be introduced to Grant and his team on Earth. The link between Vulcan, Phobos and Lunar needed further investigation.

  And now they were all set to leave and continue on their mission. Folkard and Jack were inside Esmeralda preparing the flyer, while Annabelle was elsewhere on the base, saying goodbye to her protector, Chauncy Wendt. Nathanial remained on the steps, watching life return to the loading bay, and waited.

  He was still overcome by the return of Arnaud and had found himself quite unable to express his happiness at seeing the Frenchman alive. A look had passed between them, once Minos took away Blayney’s body, but the subsequent commotion and restoration of order gave them little chance to reacquaint themselves with each other. During the course of the day, Folkard had let it be known that he had fully briefed Arnaud on their mission, and Arnaud had readily agreed. “A little too excitable about the whole thing, if you ask me,” Folkard had pointed out, which, for some obscure reason, caused Nathanial’s heart to jump into his throat.

  He glanced over at the hatchway leading out of the loading bay at the sound of two familiar voices. A large trunk held between them, Annabelle and Arnaud appeared, a worn leather satchel slung over Arnaud’s shoulders. They were chatting fervently, much laughter passing between them. Nathanial stood up quickly. He should probably offer to help.

  Arnaud noticed this abrupt movement and for a moment their eyes locked. A drop of sweat beaded on Nathanial’s brow. With a smile he turned and entered the flyer.

  Epilogue

  1.

  TO EAVESDROP WAS not the ladylike thing to do, so Annabelle slowed her pace. The Esmeralda 2 was just about to leave Messor Base and she couldn’t say she was sorry to go. She had noted how the men looked at her after the shooting of Blayney, with a mixture of shock, outrage, and maybe she had seen some disgust from a few. Nathanial and Arnaud had looked…sorrowful but that had not lasted. Their expressions had changed to quiet respect—she hoped they did not begrudge her that sentiment in any way.

  Folkard looked at her with understanding. She supposed that made sense; if anyone, he understood the need for what she did. She was, however, pleased to catch a few words exchanged between Nathanial and the captain as she drew near. She overhead Nathanial give thanks to Folkard for rescuing Arnaud. The two men shook hands. The exchange was a little stiff, but it was good to see that Nathanial might have begun some form of healing, and show some good feeling towards the captain again. Annabelle inclined her head to Folkard, who excused himself and went to oversee the next leg of their journey.

  Nathanial also excused himself but she had a feeling his abrupt departure was owing to a case of urgency to be elsewhere than because of anything she had done. He had thought his friend lost and now he was found. Perhaps Nathanial would even let his hair down and let Arnaud ply him with a little cognac tonight—a bottle of which Mister Quintana had presented Arnaud with as he left.

  It delighted Annabelle to see some light return to Nathanial’s eyes, and it suited her to be alone for a while. She had much to think on. Every stage in their journey constituted a beginning and an end of sorts. The past made a person who they were. No good or bad moment should be forgotten, ignored. Yet sometimes the past should be put to rest, and sometimes it should not.

  Maybe there were things she still could not recall, but much of her memory was now restored.

  Sh
e knew she would never thank Koivunen—how could she?—but his actions had opened up to her a memory she had forgot. A face. That of a little girl with dark hair…

  2.

  THE LAB DOOR was open when he returned from the control deck. He stopped there for a moment, surprised to see Arnaud struggling to fit his trunk underneath the cot at the far end of the room. Already he had emptied some of its contents and Nathanial’s lab was a mess of instruments and knick-knacks. He supposed he would have to get used to that, and, with a smile, he realised he didn’t mind that at all.

  It was just good to have Arnaud here at last. There was simply so much they needed to talk about; that Nathanial had to tell Arnaud. Would he understand, or even care?

  Arnaud noticed Nathanial standing there. “Annabelle suggested we ‘bunk together’. I do not think Captain Folkard would like me to be in his room.”

  Nathanial glanced up the gangway towards the control deck. “No, I don’t suppose he would.”

  Arnaud placed a finger in his mouth and looked around the lab. “Not much space, non? What to do? I have no sleeping bag.” He coughed abruptly, and looked up with the most pathetic expression Nathanial had ever seen.

  “You are unwell?”

  “Oui. A virus from the Ceres underground, I think. Ne vous inquiétez pas,” Arnaud said, waving away Nathanial’s concern. “No snuggling,” he added, with a slight smile.

  Nathanial shook his head. There was a time when he would have responded to that, but instead he smiled. Always the same Arnaud.

  “I think we shall have a lot to discuss, then,” Nathanial said and stepped into the lab, feeling better than he had in a long while.

  Things were not perfect with Annabelle, but they were on the right path to healing the wounds, and he had made his peace with Folkard. Surely he still held some animosity because of Edwin’s death, but the captain had brought Arnaud back to him—from death in some respects. That went a long way.