20 Million Leagues Over the Sea (2 page)

Gemma heard a loud whistle and then felt a
far gentler movement as the capsule moved into one of the lifts.
She fought the helpless feeling that flooded her as she was tilted
onto her back. The lift was turning the capsule towards the
sky.

"Right," the launch director said. "Look
sharp, now. Shuttle launch in five..."

"Oh, dear," sputtered Pugh.

"Four."

"What now?" demanded the captain.

"Three."

"That sixth cup of tea just kicked in."

"Two."

"Well, you'll just have to--"

"One. Take it away!"

She felt a tremendous push from behind and
fought down the wild panic that tried to escape as it became more
difficult to breathe. After another single hard shudder, the
captain's voice broke in on her reverie. He spoke with little
effort, as if the extra force of gravity on him meant nothing more
than a feather pressing upon his sternum.

"Congratulations, Miss Llewellyn, you are the
first female scientist to cross the sound barrier! And here's the
switch to the climbing cable. It is the pinnacle of human
ingenuity, is it not?"

The announcer broke in again: "Turning you
over to Cable Control, now. Good luck!
Terra vigila!
"

"I mean," Dr. Pugh continued as if he'd not
just been interrupted by a launch, "just because we picked up the
toys that some aliens left behind, do we have to change
everything?"

Gemma was sure she could tolerate another
five hours of this -- she could tolerate just about anything for a
short amount of time -- but she was not sure about two whole years.
The only response she could give Pugh now would have been
impertinent, and any response to the captain would have been
flirtation. She was not ready for that.

Sweat trickled down her spine while they were
climbing, climbing, climbing. The rails on which they traveled were
a true marvel. They rose above the waves only during a launch. An
electric current snapped it to attention when it was in use. When
it was electrified, it was the largest structure ever made by
humans. Otherwise, it slumbered on the water like a gargantuan iron
dragon until it was shocked into life again. Its collapsibility
made it easier to maintain and more resistant to the massive
seasonal storms that rolled through this region of the world. Since
this was the last shuttle for the Mars Mission, Gemma wondered how
long it would sleep before the next launch. If they were
successful, perhaps they would use it again to go to Venus. If not
-- oh, that did not bear thinking on. She focused her thoughts on
the inside of the shuttle, instead.

After a long stretch of cable climbing, the
launch director broke in again. "Prepare for cable release ...
there! You are now in free fall." And with that, any downward pull
that Gemma felt disappeared. The light breakfast that still
lingered in her stomach threatened to emerge, but she managed to
keep it down.

For the next hour, she endured the two men
arguing their respective positions. The captain excused the
scientist, and the scientist delivered an exhaustive lecture on the
dangers of space; he informed her about how it wasn't a safe place
for anyone, let alone a lady of any quality. He went on about how
the world needed more women that could breed the numbers lost
during the Invasion and fewer that could sweat pipes. That is, when
he wasn't complaining about his bladder.

"We're so far behind in sheer numbers, I
wonder if we'll ever catch up," he mused.

She wondered if he had done his own bit for
King and country, then, and if he had delivered the same lecture
whilst in the act.

She had endured much, much worse on previous
expeditions. At the same time, while physics was the pilot on this
part of her journey, she did have control over one thing. She
pressed a button on the arm of her padded seat. It was large enough
to accommodate her thickly gloved finger.

"Gentlemen," Gemma said, "your advice is duly
noted and appreciated. However, I do believe it is time for this
lady to get some beauty rest."

With that, she pressed another button, the
one that silenced all transmissions except those from the launch
commander. She breathed happily into the blessed silence that
followed.

Moreau
. The name tickled a memory at
the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite place it. That
bothered her; in her line of work, memory was her most valuable
tool. He didn't seem French, and he certainly didn't sound like he
had been anywhere near Paris.

She dozed for a while, unsure if they had
ever stopped their one-sided debates. All of a sudden, she fell
forward with a jerk. The shuttle had stopped floating freely. She
felt a slight wobble and a distinct forward pull.

"Ah," said the captain. Somehow, he had found
an override. "That would be the landing tether. They are towing us
into the station bay. Almost there, now."

A few moments later, the cabin lights
extinguished, and the hatch opened. A waiting crew unstrapped them
and assisted them out of the small capsule. Gemma was so stiff that
it was almost impossible to walk down the short ramp to the main
deck without assistance. She turned to look back at Dr. Pugh, but
all she could see was a very tall white jumpsuit and a helmet that
was stubborn in its refusal to unclamp from its collar. The
technician ushered her forward into a dressing room and left her to
the ministrations of another lady waiting there.

She was very relieved to exit the awkward
suit. It was a bit of a struggle even with assistance. They finally
managed it after much hopping and grasping and pulling and not a
little cursing on Gemma's part. Mrs. Brightman would not have
approved of the cursing, but she was many miles away on the planet
below and could not hear. After uttering every swear word she knew
(and making up a few in the process), she was free of it. In the
small cubicle where she changed, she found a washbasin and soap.
The water was not as warm as she would have liked, but a wash after
so many hours of sweat was refreshing. The young lady presented her
with a long charcoal-gray skirt and brown button-up blouse. She had
to demonstrate how the skirt worked; apparently, in space even
dressing required extensive training. Flaps and buttons allowed one
to be wearing a skirt or wide-legged pants, depending on what one
needed at that moment.

"There are times," the technician said, with
her own "skirt" buttoned into pants, "where the trousers will be
more modest than the skirt. Trust me."

The blouse itself was a double-breasted
jacket in a drab workaday brown material that was warm and heavy
but not stiff. Copper buttons marched in a double line down its
front. From its mandarin collar down to the hem just below her
waist, its design had function in mind, not fashion. Buttons on the
upper arm allowed the wearer to shorten the sleeves or attach
sleeve protectors as needed. She had seen both techniques in
laboratories in the past. A small badge sewn onto the left arm
shouted that she was a member of the SCIENTIFIC COHORT.

A curious patch sat upon the right arm. In
the shape of a shield, it bore a picture of a tiny steamship
churning its way towards the Red Planet. The white poles of the
globe shone in the harsh light of the station. Across the top of
the patch was the name of her new home:
Thunder Child's
Fury
. The bottom simply declared the ubiquitous war cry of
Terra Vigila!

She brushed the patch with her left hand and
adjusted the top of the blouse. She tucked her locket in and
buttoned up. She left her braid alone, as they did not have time
for re-dressing her great mound of hair just now.

Gemma released a resigned sigh. She did not
mind the unfashionable plainness of the outfit, not really. She
didn't even mind the lack of a corset or a bustle. This outfit had
the stamp of the Rational Dress Society all over it. In fact, the
RDS had been attempting to change the prevailing wardrobe
recommended by the TIA's Ministry of Culture for years. Perhaps the
RDS had finally had their way somewhere in the universe. Still, she
would feel more comfortable once she was back in her own clothes.
Two years in this dress would be intolerable. She was adaptable,
but not that adaptable.

She found Dr. Pugh and the captain waiting
for her outside of the changing rooms. This time they were debating
the relative merits and dangers of the rising Socialist movement.
She looked up at Pugh, who was of a size with the captain; they
both towered over her. They, too, had swapped the bulky jumpsuits
for similar double-breasted jackets with matching trousers. But
where Moreau was a bright blue jay, Dr. Pugh was a dull turkey. Dr.
Pugh's coat was the same boring brown as her own, but the captain's
uniform was a midnight blue with shining silver buttons and white
trim lining the high collar.

"We meet again, Miss Llewellyn," the Captain
said. "I hope the clothing isn't too plain for your liking. I'm
afraid we're mostly business up here in the sky. May I present Dr.
Elias Pugh? Dr. Pugh, Miss Gemma Llewellyn, our new geologist."

Dr. Pugh nodded and grunted at her by way of
greeting. His sparse gray hair was long enough to gather into a
ponytail; such tiny flashes of rebellion were a sort of style
amongst his deliberately unstylish brotherhood. His eyes were
bloodshot and weary. He turned his gaze to Moreau without a word to
her.

"Why are we wasting time standing here?
Shouldn't we go ahead and board?"

"I'm afraid that we must delay our
embarkation for a bit," the captain replied. "I've been informed
that they are conducting tests on the Oberths at the moment. It is
not safe to cross the gangway right now. We have a little time to
spare." He smiled at Gemma. "Would you like to see the ship from
the outside?"

Watch him,
Mrs. Brightman had ordered.
Whatever else you do, watch him. Keep his attention.

"Yes, I would," Gemma replied.

"I've seen it before," muttered Dr. Pugh.
"But I would like to see our geologist's reaction to the view."

Captain Moreau led them down a long hallway.
The walls, doors, and floors were blindingly bright. Gemma was
amazed at how very clean everything was. It was far removed from
the grime and mud of ancient London. The air was laden with the
smell of metal, India rubber, and another chemical odour that she
could not identify. The ambiance wasn't exactly fresh from the
country, but it had no soot to choke upon, either.

She took time along the way to examine Dr.
Pugh in more detail. He was certainly much older than in the
photograph she had seen. While Moreau practically glided down the
hallway, Pugh loped like a limp giraffe, poking his head ahead of
him as the rest of him rushed to catch up. His hands were knobby
and covered with the scars one got from years of exploring the uses
of a scalpel. His lab shirt stank of formaldehyde. She was used to
scientific aromas, so she did not wrinkle her nose as much as
others might have. He glanced her way on occasion, but he said
nothing.

Moreau was full of energy as he chatted about
the station. Pugh lowered his eyelids and silently mimicked the
younger man's speech when he wasn't looking. Moreau waved off the
older man's sullenness as if he were humouring his slightly senile
grandfather.

They entered a room on the station's outer
rim. Light shone up from the baseboards along the walls. The dull
thuds of their footsteps echoed as they approached the far side of
the chamber. Gemma could barely see the others' faces in the
semi-darkness.

"Miss Llewellyn," the captain said, "may I
present to you, the apex of human achievement, the TIAS
Thunder
Child's Fury
."

Moreau pulled a lever on the adjacent wall.
The deck plates hummed as a section of the wall rolled back and
revealed the dark space beyond.

Gemma gasped. The ship was even larger than
she had imagined. The schematics had not prepared her for this;
they were just drawings and figures on paper. This beast was alive
and floating below her like some magnificent creature of the sea.
Enormous nozzles stretched out from either end of the ship,
extending its length. It resembled a gargantuan crab ready to crawl
sideways across the sky.

"Why do we have nozzles on both ends?" she
asked. "I understand why they would be aft, but--"

"But why forward? For braking. We have to
slow down at some point, so we can get into Mars' orbit. We'll
start using those on Braking Day, partway through the trip. We
figured that would be simpler than turning the ship around
mid-sail."

She blinked at him.

"It's just like a sailing vessel, where one
cannot just stop the ship like one stops a motor car. We're
spilling wind from the sails, except we're doing it with the
direction of thrust." The captain continued his story as she stared
out the viewport. "She's a real beaut, isn't she? Victory Class.
She's the first."

"The only," muttered Pugh.

A sea of rivets dotted its skin in straight
lines of steel barnacles, broken every so often by intersecting
circles of smaller nozzles. According to the schematics she had
seen, these were the maneuvering thrusters, used to nudge the ship
into new directions. The top of the ship was longer than the
Gatwick Racetrack. The airships that she had flown in were
enormous, but this behemoth dwarfed even them. It was a metallic
monster suspended against waves of stars. It felt odd to see it
just hanging in space, with neither ground nor water to support it.
Just seeing it made her forget for a moment why they were here in
this high and lonely place.

There was a slight glow to her left. She
supposed that was the engine test that the captain had
mentioned.

"Apex of human achievement?" Dr. Pugh
snorted. "Hardly. Apex of thievery, more like. We made it the
old-fashioned way. We stole it."