Free A Fistful of Dust by Sharon Bidwell Page B

had been in one was disputable.
    The cavern in which they descended was large enough to allow more than adequate manoeuvrability for Esmeralda 2 . Their projected lights extended far enough to reach the sides, but the outer walls remained in gloom. Nothing pierced this twilight except shifting shadows, which at first Folkard had taken for movement until he reasoned what could be down here to move?
    Anything. If his encounters so far had not taught him this, they’d taught him nothing.
    A sudden pitch of the ship made him take a step to right his stability. “Whoa,” he said only to receive strange looks from the others. It was then he realised he’d been the only one to move.
    “Ear infections can affect balance.” Arnaud’s words were plausible and, he suspected, used as a means for Folkard to save face, but he had no doubt as to the hidden message. Arnaud was watching him and would continue to do so. From here on out they would all watch each other.
    “Perhaps that is so, Fontaine, but needs must I carry on. We have a rescue mission.”
    “Then you believe Henry alive and well?” Highmore sounded hopeful.
    “That I cannot say, but clearly we are not the only visitors.” Folkard pointed. Below and slightly to the left they caught their first sight of the other flyer, a crude vessel to be sure even from this distance. It looked as though someone had cobbled it together in a private workshop. Folkard couldn’t say he’d like to be out in the aether in such a craft.
    “They’re damn lucky they didn’t encounter a vortex,” Nathaniel commented.
    “Quite so. And it is a wonder that they have made more than one trip from Mars to Phobos. Two at least that we know of, probably a minimal three.”
    “Of course,” Nathaniel concurred. “The original mission. The trip for supplies where our unknown American encountered Henry Barnsdale-Stevens, and possibly one to set up the operation.” He shrugged. “Whatever that happens to be.”
    “I hope the trip to the monolith was worthwhile, Stone.” Folkard gave him a pointed look.
    “As do I. I have much to decipher, and will try to do my best as we continue.”
    “Is it my imagination or is it brighter the lower we go?” Highmore sounded surprised.
    “There does appear to be some luminosity.” Folkard peered into the darkness attempting to answer Highmore’s question. “I do not see any signs of moss to explain it.”
    “Moss?”
    “A tedious explanation,” Nathaniel replied to Highmore’s enquiry without bothering to give one. “Is that ship…grounded?”
    Folkard tilted his head. “I think not.” He brought the flyer about forty-five degrees.
    Their lights shone on the haul of the other vessel. “Keep an attentive watch,” Folkard ordered. So far, all was quiet, but if the mysterious crew had left guards upon the flyer, they should be prepared for attack at any moment. “Ah…there. Just as I thought. See those wires.”
    Steel grey twisted cables spread out like netting from all angles of the flyer, shot into the bedrock of the walls. The flyer floated just a few feet above the cavern floor.
    “Be careful of those cables! We don’t want to come to damage by becoming entangled.” Hesitating, Folkard turned to Stone for some advice. “We can, however, affix our vessel to theirs?”
    “I see no reason why not.”
    “Will not the extra force on the cables pull them free from however they are fixed?”
    “A logical question, Highmore. The answer is no. The lack of gravity provides weightlessness. The very reason we float means there is no pull. The cables are not so much a method of pinning the other ship, simply one of tying it up. An anchor, if you will.”
    Piping through to the common room, Folkard ordered Whitlock, Burton and Carter across to the other ship.
    “It feels too quiet, sah .”
    “A good sentiment, Whitlock.” Folkard was beginning to like the man. He was quick to step up to a chore. To those on the control deck, he said,