Read Online A Fistful of Dust by Sharon Bidwell - Free Book Online

couldn’t tell for whom. That could be the glass in his helmet distorting the light. Had to be. The crazed notion left her shaken, her pulse pounding. A drop of sweat ran to her temple and then paved a path down the side of her face. It itched as if the salt in her sweat had dried instantly on her skin, and she longed to wipe it away, but trapped in the helmet she could not…although…
    A terrifying revelation hit Annabelle that she had raised her hands as if to remove her helmet. Even now, she wanted to.
    Cannot. Must not. To remove the helmet meant suicide.
    Trapped. Ensnared. Annabelle couldn’t breathe. Why had she willingly cocooned herself in a suit designed to protect her from the dark depth of the aether, and why had she ever thought something so flimsy could be designed to do that? Humans weren’t supposed to be out here; this was madness.
    4.
    “CAPTAIN?”
    “Yes? Out with it man!” Even Arnaud was acting edgy.
    “We seem to be gaining pressure on the solar boiler. It’s slow, but been climbing steadily, as if the ventilation isn’t working correctly.”
    Folkard marched across to the control panel, gaze skimming over gauges. He flicked a couple of switches then straightened. He and Arnaud looked at each other almost as if they were having the same thought. Following his threat to throw Highmore in the brig, he’d suggested the aristocrat retire to his acquired cabin until the others came back aboard, and the man had been almost too eager to leave.
    Folkard straightened. “It would seem, Doctor, that while you have spent your energies watching me, we should both have been focusing on our honorary gentleman.”
    “I’ll take care of him,” Arnaud said, and then turned on his heel with a quick nod. Folkard took his seat and set his mind to ignoring the march of insects across his skin.
    5.
    FROM THE SHADOWS , Highmore watched Arnaud. He made no attempt to hide his arrival, no doubt aware Highmore would know someone was coming after him. He hadn’t expected the good captain to send the Frenchman but that made his job easier. The sap looked ill prepared for violence.
    “Highmore, sir! Whatever you have done to this ship, I suggest you show yourself and repair it. If you do, Folkard will forgo pressing charges.”
    Charges! As if he cared. What was the threat of charges next to asphyxiation? The walls were closing in on him, making the amount of available air diminish by the second, and here was a Frenchman invading the small space, stealing his oxygen.
    Highmore gave Fontaine no reply but the doctor probably hadn’t expected one. The geologist moved deeper into the engine room, head turning and tilting as he listened for sounds other than the predominant hiss of steam. Highmore slipped further away. As he moved, one of his boots nudged something and he looked down, spying one of Stone’s precious books. He kicked it over the edge of the walkway and carried on even as the sound alerted the doctor to his whereabouts. When he got hold of Fontaine, he would do the same to him.
    6.
    THINK .
    If they were all suffering the same ill effects then were they all suffocating, wanting to shrug off their only protection? Annabelle had to stop them. Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was Whitlock and Miss Highmore struggling.
    Was the traitor Whitlock? Or Joseph Highmore? Was Whitlock trying to murder them all at his employee’s command?
    Salt running into her eyes made Annabelle blink. Her vision cleared. Whitlock wasn’t trying to hurt Miss Highmore any more than her brother would, and now, Annabelle struggled to understand why she’d even thought that possible. Joseph Highmore loved his sister; Annabelle would…stake her life on it. She was staking all their lives on it.
    If there were nothing wrong with the suits then something was affecting them. She didn’t know what… Maybe Phobos itself. Maybe the reason its name was so closely linked to fear.
    Swallowing and gathering her courage, Annabelle