Prologue

1.

THE PECULIAR RUBBER linings of the pressured corridors absorbed sound so that Arnaud almost failed to notice the first cough. The sound only registered when the word “slacker” was whispered, rounded off by another cough.

Ivor Cadogan. There was only one man in residence at Messor Base who was worse, and that was Dylan Blayney, the base manager. Cadogan worked under him, which was all Arnaud needed to know. Blayney seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him, and if Blayney didn’t like a man, that meant Cadogan’s instant hatred followed.

Pretending not to hear, Arnaud concentrated on the papers in his hands as he continued on to the next iron terrasphere, hoping Cadogan and the man at his side would just walk on by. Alas, Arnaud must have looked perplexed. As they came abreast, Cadogan spun on his heel and stopped.

“Lost, Doctor Fontaine?” Cadogan always managed to sound as if he spat when he addressed Arnaud.

“Non. Not…lost. Confused.” As much as Arnaud didn’t want to speak with him, Cadogan might have the explanation he needed.

“Hardly surprising, that is.” Cadogan shared a look and a snigger with the colleague standing beside him.

Arnaud didn’t recognise the face and didn’t engage with either of the miners regarding the insult. Although Cadogan looked put-out when he failed to get a response to such defamation, it was better to pretend ignorance, to play the bumbling fool than to acknowledge the abuse. He’d learned to do so only escalated matters. He could hardly report Cadogan to Blayney, and if he tried to go higher, he would be met with more ridicule, either owing to his nationality, or his position. If a grown man couldn’t take a little ridicule, no one saw much hope for his surviving in space. They viewed such men as unreliable. Besides, scientists were not revered by everyone in the universe, and since he’d first been introduced to Blayney, the man had referred to him as the Frenchie who “played with rocks”.

Dragging out a sheet of paper, wishing light as well as sound was not so dull in the connecting corridors, Arnaud said, “Each corridor is known by the prefix occator, oui?” When all he received was a stare, he continued, “The list is not…erm…how would you say? Chromelogical?”

“What?”

“He means chronological,” the other man interjected.

Accepting he had pronounced it incorrectly—hardly a great offence—still it amused Arnaud to note that Cadogan seemed no more enlightened. He glared at his companion who shuffled his feet.

“In order, n’est-ce pas?” Arnaud gestured to the non-sequential numbers on the sheet, and saw at once he’d inadvertently drawn Cadogan’s anger. Cadogan appeared to be chewing his tongue so hard, Arnaud almost expected to see blood when he opened his mouth.

“Don’t expect hard-working men to know fancy expressions in any language. What’d you need to know about the mining for?” Cadogan shared a look with the man at his side, seemingly on good terms with him again.

He could hardly blame them for the hostility, but he had explained to men better than Cadogan that he found the environment austere, and the necessity of working in an atmosphere suit too restricting. It was truly better if they could bring samples back to him here at the base. Orlondo Quintana, the palaeontologist who had summoned him here, was the only one who had shown him any understanding in this matter, understanding that he would accomplish more without distractions and unnecessary physical hardship.

To the miners, they saw Arnaud’s complaint as a refusal to dirty his hands, a means to shirk responsibility and to leave the hard work to “lower” classes. Arnaud saw these men as no such thing, but they didn’t want to hear explanations. They were sick of mining for many months at a time for what they saw as little compensation. They saw riches being dug out every day and some wanted their cut. Arnaud and the other scientists could have tried explaining that not all minerals amounted to gems, and that although much of what they found might have considerable worth and various applications, without scientific involvement they would never know for certain. Some discoveries would undoubtedly be worthless. Some would require many years of investigation. Arnaud sympathised with everyone on both sides, but what these men were paid had nothing to do with him. The one thing he might have been able to stand up for was better provisions. If the men wanted to argue about social division, they ought to start in the dining hall. It couldn’t have escaped everyone’s notice that some of the men ate better than others. His nose had twitched with some tantalising scents on occasion. Either it was a matter of rank or personal disapprobation, but the scientists were served the same as most of the lower work force. Hardly fair that those in charge or with the right connections ate better when many of the rest did the bulk of physical labour.

“How are they…?” He searched for the word.

“Prioritised?” Cadogan’s companion offered helpfully, and then looked away as Cadogan’s gaze fell on him.

“Oui. Yes.”

Cadogan turned his glare back to Arnaud. “Better ask that of more important men. We’re just the worker ants.” The venom and sarcasm did not escape Arnaud, and with that Cadogan did spit, just missing Arnaud’s feet, before lumbering off down the corridor. As for—Arnaud hid a smile—worker ants, Cadogan was one of those who ate well.

“It’s a simple matter of inspection,” the other man whispered. “Some corridors are more important. Others less, or require more work, or…”

“Oui, but these…” Arnaud tapped a few allocations low down on the list. He was pointing to some of the tunnels they were excavating right here on the base, a couple of which were marked as “discontinued”. The unknown miner glanced at the page, before looking down the corridor to Cadogan’s back, then at the list again, and finally at Arnaud.

“Some of the tunnels…they were set aside for much later investigation because of…peculiarities.”

“Peculiarities?” Arnaud received no answer. Possibly fearing Cadogan’s wrath, the unnamed miner was already jogging down the corridor away from him.

Arnaud was left holding sheets of paper, frowning, and only the fact of having his hands full stopped him from scratching his head.

“I suggest you stick to your own tasks,” the British archaeologist, Doctor Lester Gully, told him when their paths next crossed and Arnaud mentioned the subject.

“I was just…” Well, in truth he was wondering how many months he would be stuck here. He might enjoy studying rocks, but he didn’t enjoy living inside one—this had to be one of the most inhospitable places he’d ever visited, and he wasn’t just referring to the environment. “I’ve not seen this category listed elsewhere.”

Doctor Gully leaned over, looked at the page, and then said, “Where did you get that?” Not waiting for an answer, he sniffed. “Odd, I admit, but…” He shrugged, already engrossed in examining the current specimens.

Arnaud might have shrugged, too, if it had not been that a moment of simple curiosity had led to the utterance of a word certain to spark his interest: peculiarities. Instinct told him to shake it off as a poorly chosen description, but he didn’t believe that was the case. He was certain the man had chosen it quite precisely.

Still, he could do no further investigation right now. Arnaud set his concerns aside and set about the next test sample.

2.

“FOOL!” CADOGAN SNAPPED to no one. He’d already arranged for Pettitt to go on the next transport out, although the idiot would already be on his way before he realised it was Cadogan’s doing and connected that with his talking to Fontaine. Pettitt swore he’d said nothing damaging, but the man had a runaway mouth.

Well, the assignment served him right. If talking to him didn’t shut him up, hard work ought to, but as he couldn’t send the man off base for another day, he’d sent him down to check out the tunnels beyond Occator Six—the so-called “discontinued” corridors—just as a precaution, just in case Fontaine got inquisitive. Better to use Pettitt for that anyway.

For the first time, it crossed his mind that Blayney had him at an imposition. Not that he thought the other man would take advantage of that. No way. They were friends. If it came down to someone needing to be blamed, they’d find someone else to use between them. Pity Pettitt was too much of an imbecile to use for such a purpose. No one would believe it was his doing, and he’d spill the whole tale. Hmm… Maybe he should keep Pettitt on one of the serritor details, just in case he needed to arrange an accident. Pettitt had enough of a mind probably to understand that the inspection was part punishment, but he’d never truly shared the same mindset. He sympathised too much with the scientists, talked about things being wondrous. He’d just gone from being an inconvenience to a liability.

Pettitt should be back shortly, and Cadogan knew he’d have to keep an eye on him until he left the base. What was taking him so long? It was safe enough but decidedly creepy down in the tunnels. Not so bad when there were two or three of you, but alone? Pettitt would be lucky to make it back with clean underwear. When he did, he’d find his troubles were only just beginning and he’d been rostered off out of here. Cadogan would have to silence his inevitable protests. He couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

3.

OCCATOR SIX. THE number suggested the tunnel beyond the hatch was one of the first exhumed. Why then was it listed as “discontinued”? According to the schematics there had been only a little digging undertaken before it stopped. Could it be that there truly was nothing of worth down there? Or up? When one was in space the concept of up and down tended to get turned around. Still, the question bothered Arnaud. He didn’t see how they could come up with that deduction so fast. The work detail had only spent three days on that particular excavation.

After finishing his initial tests on another batch of minerals, he’d taken a break to throw what they called food down his throat. He’d head back to the lab directly, set up work for tomorrow, and then rest. If he had time, he might even check out…

As if his feet had known where his mind was at, Arnaud realised he’d not stopped at the intersection leading to the lab, but had continued on. Any further and he’d end up at the opening that led to Occator Six.

Curiosity was a terrible burden. He did not need to anger Cadogan and the others to greater extremes. There was no hurry, and a wise man would not go about inspecting the very thing he had mentioned to the enemy—that was a mistake, he realised now—that very same day. For all he knew Cadogan could be lying in wait.

“My friends would be so proud,” Arnaud muttered. He had gained a suspicious mind, and didn’t even know when the change had occurred. Maybe he’d always been a little suspect of people. Minerals were safer and they didn’t argue or answer back. Doctor Gully was right. He should stick to studying inorganic matter.

The only reason he didn’t move was because of the blood.

The bloody handprint positively glowed, standing out so starkly against the wall.