A Fistful of Dust by Sharon Bidwell Page B

normal. Whatever was bothering Highmore, he was the only one feeling it.
    “Can you not move this ship to cool things down?”
    “It is not hot and movement has nothing to do with the internal temperature of the ship.”
    “What rot! The only other explanation is equipment failure. Inspect the…gimbal arm or whatever you call it. Turn the boiler’s mirror away from the sun!”
    “That would not be wise at this juncture.”
    “Is it any wiser that we should all boil like lobsters? You’ve flouted authority from the moment I arrived. Elizabeth told me. I know you had the audacity to question Routledge, a man by far your superior,” from Highmore’s tone Folkard deduced Highmore did not just infer rank, “and now you refuse to move to cool things down when we are clearly at risk of overheating.”
    “And I have told you moving has nothing to do with the systems you speak of on this ship. Calm down.”
    “Do not tell me to calm down!” Highmore brandished his walking stick. Folkard met his outburst with a moment of silence before speaking.
    “You are lacking in social graces, sir. As to your complaint, I speak from fact.”
    “Provided by Stone no doubt. An amateur’s take,” Highmore sneered.
    “You seem to forget I am captain of this vessel and while that does not make me an engineer, it does mean I have some knowledge of how the craft I command works, sir!”
    “And as for amateur, one could say the same of yourself, sir,” Arnaud interjected only to have the man’s wrath turned on him.
    “You speak as your precious Professor Stone sees it.”
    “I speak as others higher in authority than you see it.”
    “And what would one such as yourself know about the higher echelons?” Highmore paced towards the geologist, close enough to whisper in his ear. “Why are you here, Doctor Fontaine? To determine whether my friend, Henry, has indeed found wealth?”
    “We’ve already agreed that is not the case.”
    “Then it seems to me you serve no purpose.”
    “The doctor is not part of your expedition. He is part of mine and has a greater standing than you do on this ship!”
    “I will not be spoken to like this, Captain.” Highmore got up close and personal until the captain could smell the man’s sweat, but he refused to back off.
    “Then get the hell out of my control room, sir! Or I will have you confined!”
    3.
    THE MOMENT WHITLOCK HAD mentioned feeling queasy, Annabelle’s stomach had flipped
    At first, she could do nothing, then as things became more frantic, her breathing laboured, her stomach clenching in unbearable cramps, she isolated his thoughts from the plight of his friends and concentrated on feeling well. There was no reason for her to be sick other than possibly talking herself into it. I will not be sick. I will not be sick. I refuse.
    As soon as she felt better she had turned her attention to her companions, and she and Nathaniel—who seemed unaffected—had talked them around. Despite this, by the time they made it to the base of the monolith, Annabelle fought to breathe. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on the edifice as they approached. At one point, she’d lost track of their reason for being out here and knew nothing beyond the placing of one foot in front of the other. The shadow of the monolith had acted more as a marker to aim for than a profound find.
    Even now, she struggled to turn her attention to the very thing they had come out here to examine. She glanced back. They hadn’t walked far. Folkard had brought the flyer in as close as he dared. Why then did it feel as if they had walked miles? Was there something wrong with her suit? Was it faulty?
    She noticed Elizabeth and Burton seemed to be in similar straits. What were the chances of three out of five pressure suits having a fault?
    Sabotage?
    She wanted to call to Nathaniel but he seemed taken with the monolith and as for Whitlock… The other man’s gaze appeared to be a reflection of hatred, although she