Free A Fistful of Dust by Sharon Bidwell Page A

readily returned.
    “Enlighten those here who may not know the term,” Highmore commanded.
    Without breaking his gaze, Arnaud spoke to the room, his words utilitarian. “A term that simply means surface mining, stripping the layers of rock and soil. It gained popularity as early as the sixteenth century. It’s been used to extricate coal…oil…minerals.” Arnaud gave the word no particular emphasis but clearly the geologist was wondering whether indeed the minerals they sought were here on this very moon. Folkard remained silent, listening. “The most likely explanation for the…trenches, are a result of the impact which caused the crater; however, the patterns in the regolith are not remedial from the crater and would be indicative of strip mining. It would likely also account for size.”
    Yes, size, for the grooves were… “What do you think?” Nathaniel asked Arnaud. “A hundred feet deep?”
    “ Oui . A thing that could be achieved by the gradual removal of layers. They have to be…” Arnaud stared out the viewing port, pursing his lips. “The smallest I judge three times the width as is deep, and some are double that. Their length runs for several miles.”
    “I thought the Martians had no interest in Phobos,” Folkard said, brow furrowing in a good rendition of the surface. “Didn’t Sir Henry say…?”
    “That they had superstitions? Yes. Mostly, they seem to have no wish to discuss it. During my conversations with the Canal Martians, I learned they seem to…fear it.” Highmore said that last directly to Nathaniel. “But if these marks are the result of mining…then who? The other men? The ones here before us, who have Henry?”
    Arnaud flicked a slightly pained but sympathetic look in the man’s direction.
    “Impossible.” Arnaud pronounced it the French way: im-poss-si-blah . “These marks have taken place over time. Some are fresher, others worn by years. Some have been here longer than I care to gauge. They angle over one another, overrun.”
    “Stone?” What had happened to Highmore’s calling him Nathaniel? “You have nothing to add to this yet call yourself a scientist?”
    “When I have something to live up to that expectation I will impart it.”
    “For now I suggest you all look ahead.” Everyone obeyed the captain. “That’s our destination, gentlemen.”
    The Stickney crater! Though to call it so did it a disservice. At Folkard’s order, the Esmeralda 2 eased along the rim, although they were still some way up and merely changed their angle of drift. From their vantage point, they began to perceive its depth and breadth.
    “What size is this thing?” Highmore stepped forward, allowing Nathaniel to bridge the gap to join Arnaud. The two men bent their heads together, although Nathaniel had to bend rather more than Arnaud. When soft strands of the geologist’s hair brushed the side of his face, it was all Nathaniel could do not to leap back. They conversed. He straightened, grateful to do so, and a little sorry. “Approximately six miles in diameter.”
    “There appears to be a smaller crater inside the giant one.”
    “That would be Limtoc,” Arnaud explained.
    Folkard dipped his head, gaze intent, once again projecting the image of a man whose mind was only marginally here. When he ordered them into Limtoc, no one questioned why.
    4.
    THEY DESCENDED INTO darkness.
    “Decidedly unremarkable.”
    “You sound puzzled, Highmore. What were you expecting?” Having no wish to talk to the aristocrat, Folkard couldn’t resist baiting him. The…itching had diminished but remained as vibrant in his mind as were Arnaud’s bruises. The geologist even now stared at him and from the way he held a hand to his throat, probably felt battered.
    “I’ve been in caves in Devon more interesting than this.”
    “Of such magnitude?”
    A glance revealed an irritated curl of Highmore’s lip. That such caves as this existed on Earth, Folkard had no doubt, but that Highmore