20 Million Leagues Over the Sea (33 page)

Christophe broke in. "Dr. Pugh, do you think
the security office in Battersea might be able--"

"I don't think they are equipped to handle a
newborn, Captain," Pugh replied. "They're not exactly a foundling
hospital."

"She is not a foundling!" Gemma shouted. She
shuddered and lowered her voice. She balled her hands into fists
and realized she was still holding Nigel's watch. As she slipped it
into her skirt pocket, an idea occurred to her. "What about this
Maggie you're always going on about?" she demanded. "Can't she
fetch the child?"

Christophe stared at Pugh, alarm writ large
upon his face. "You told her about Maggie?"

Pugh stumbled and shook his head so hard it
nearly popped off his spine. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear,
dear."

"You told her. About Maggie."

"Not now, Captain!" Pugh let a nervous
chuckle escape him. "Gemma, child, I'm afraid Maggie's not in
London at the moment. Not even close."

Gemma's voice rippled in a near-laugh of
frustration. "Even if she's in the bloody Antarctic, surely she's
closer than we are?"

Christophe and Pugh looked at her, looked at
each other with widening eyes, and then back at her, with unspoken
words crackling in the silence between them.

"Isn't she?" Gemma asked.

They looked at each other again, and the
tense silence stretched out like molasses.

"Well?" Gemma demanded.

"Well," Pugh said at last, "it certainly
wouldn't hurt to consult with her, at the very least."

Saluting as he did so, Humboldt stepped up to
join them. Gemma had almost forgotten that he was there. "Captain,
begging your pardon, sir, this is downright tragic. Miss L, Miss
Llewellyn, I mean, is right. We can't let the Chief's baby girl go
to an orphanage! I don't know who this Maggie person is, but
perhaps I might be of assistance."

Gemma was ready for relief from any quarter.
"Yes?"

"The Chief's been good to me, Miss L. I'd
love a chance to return the favour. You know me, I'm normally all
mouth and no trousers, but I might be able to do something
here."

"What can you do, Mr. Humboldt?" the captain
asked.

"My cousin Jules could go get her."

"Your cousin?" Christophe crossed his arms
and leaned back into the wall with one eyebrow arched so high it
nearly collided with his hairline.

"That would be Julian Humboldt and his wife,
sir. He runs the Badger 'n' Tentacle down in Hammersmith. They
don't have any little ones of their own, but they love 'em just the
same." He waited for the rest to respond, but when they didn't, he
continued. "Look, it may sound like he's just a bloke what owns a
pub, but his flat above it is rather posh. He's done rather well
for himself. And he'd do anything for me. I'm the only one in the
family that'll talk to him." He shrugged. "Of course, he's the only
one that talks to me. But all the same. Please. Let me do this for
the Chief. They can take care of her, at least until he figures out
something more permanent." He pointed at the message. "Miss
Llewellyn makes this sound serious, and I take anything she says
very seriously. Sir."

"It might be dangerous," Pugh replied with
wariness creeping into his voice. He studiously avoided looking at
Gemma as he continued. "Brightman may try to interfere. And to
borrow your phrasing, Mr. Humboldt, she's both talk
and
trousers."

Humboldt's smirk was unrestrained. "I don't
know nothin' about any Brightman, but I bet my cousin's blokes will
have a word or three to say about that. I'll tell Jules to take
them with him. They'll teach anyone they meet a thing or two about
interferin'. And he's used to taking risks. You know about his,
erm, his back room? His, shall we say, midnight salon? Sir."

"Midnight salon?" asked Gemma, unsure if she
liked the sound of that.

"I'm familiar with the owner of the Badger
and Tentacle. I've had a fair few pints there," said the captain
with a hint of a knowing smile. "But who are his blokes?"

"Oh, his chuckers-out. I'm sure you've seen
'em, sir. Big fellas that bounce out the riff-raff what gets too
rough with the faux Martian at the bar. I've not been to an
orphanage, myself, but some of those chaps grew up in 'em. They
won't let anyone touch the babe what shouldn't."

The captain nodded. "Not a bad idea. That'll
buy Mr. Davies a little breathing room. I have a few friends in
that security office that owe me a favour or two. They can stand
guard at the hospital until -- Julian, is it? -- can get there.
I'll have to trust you on this one, Mr. Humboldt. How soon can you
get a message routed to him? That may take some time."

"Oh, I know the wireless, sir. So does Jules.
Has his own setup. Told you he was posh! Regular ham, he is. I can
send a voice message straight to him, no routing necessary. If need
be, I can use the one on the
Iron Wind
, so it's just us that
knows about it. Jules doesn't use the military frequencies. Of
course. Sir."

Christophe stood very, very still. His eyes
fluttered closed for a moment. He appeared to Gemma to be listening
to a voice that only he could hear, rather than simply thinking. He
grunted softly, as if reaching a conclusion. After a few deep
breaths, he spoke at last.

"Miss, does this meet with your approval,
then?"

"I think it's the best we can do, with the
time we have."

"That's the plan, then. Like the rest of us,
Mr. Davies is sacrificing much for this mission. The least we can
do is see that his child is safe. I'll go to the dropship with you,
Mr. Humboldt. Let's keep this quiet. Oh, and Mr. Davies will have
to send his own message to the hospital, or they won't know who to
give the baby to! And, good heavens, someone find out what the
child's name is. All ahead full on this, people. Dismissed."

Humboldt sped away from them. As Gemma turned
to go back to the Gardens, Christophe plucked at her elbow. "Just a
moment. Dr. Pugh, would you please escort our Miss Llewellyn back
to Ladies' Country?"

Anger sparked behind Gemma's eyes. This was
unexpected. "Ladies' Country? I won't be--"

"I am the captain, Miss Llewellyn. I will be
obeyed in this." He leaned closer, so close she could smell the
Men-T-Fresh on his breath and feel the warmth of his face on her
forehead. He whispered, "If we do this, you may not be safe, even
here."

She shot Dr. Pugh a harsh glare. "What makes
you think--"

"No arguments, Gemma," Christophe said.
"Despite the present state of our relationship, it is my duty to
protect each and every member of my crew, and that's that. Go
straight to your cabin and lock the door. Admit no one but Dr.
Pugh, Frau Knopf, or myself. I will have her send you a tray.
You're looking a bit peaked, Miss."

He shook his head at her next attempt to
speak. She trembled a little at the sudden change in him, in spite
of herself. The iron edge in his voice, which she had not heard
since he had given the order to end Cervantes' suffering, was
sharp.

"I'll come to you when I can. We must speak
further on this, but not right now. You've done your bit. Now let
us do ours. That's my direct order, Miss Llewellyn." He released
her elbow. He swept his own long arm in front of him and gestured
towards the lift. "Dr. Pugh, if you please."

As Christophe strode away after Humboldt,
Gemma exhaled a strangled cry of frustration. She growled at Pugh
as he put his hand on her shoulder and steered her in the direction
of the lift.

"You told him. About me."

Pugh shrugged while a slight blush rippled
across his face. "Just the barest of necessities. He doesn't
quite
know all the details of your Peculiar Occupation, so
he's not ready to shove you out into the vacuum just yet. But,
don't worry, the mission is still young."

Bollocks
! Gemma screamed in her own
mind with her anger roiling as she heard Pugh cackling at his own
joke.
Despite the present state of our relationship, he says?
Protection, he says? Arrest, more like.

"He's right, you know," Pugh said in a more
serious tone as the lift lowered them down to another deck. "You
may not be Brightman's only representative on the ship."

She responded with a scowl and a stamp of her
foot; but despite her indignation, she knew he was right. The
message that Humboldt was researching for her proved it, but she
kept that bit to herself. She had to maintain some control of the
situation. Gemma continued to stew in her silence.

"Oh, ho!" Pugh guffawed at her lack of reply.
"You wanted him to act like a captain, didn't you? Just not when it
comes to you, apparently. How droll."

"And what is a
midnight salon
?" she
shot back. "It sounds vulgar."

He laughed even harder. "Nothing you'd be
interested in, I'm sure. Nothing that would harm the child."

"You're enjoying this far too much," Gemma
snapped back.

"No, no," he chortled, pretending to wipe a
tear away from the laugh lines around one eye, "I'm enjoying it
just fine, thank you."

"Oh, shut it."

Pugh's laughter echoed around the lift. Gemma
felt an odd jab underneath her ribs when she recalled the mention
of Maggie, whoever she was. It made Gemma feel nauseous when she
realized that it bothered her as much, if not more, than the fact
that she probably had a target on her back.

Gemma tried to refocus her thoughts on her
impending confinement, even if it was just to her own quarters and
not the brig. Christophe's reaction was too calm, too composed, for
someone who knew nothing about Brightman. He should not have
suspected that she was in any danger. And yet, he knew. He knew,
and there was only one way that he could know.

She should have known better than to trust
Pugh. Now that she knew that Brightman had once worked for his
mentor, she was doubly sure he could not be trusted. Something had
happened between the two of them, of that she was certain. After
reeling her in and gaining her trust -- which she had never, ever
given to anyone save Philippa and her teacher -- Pugh was at last
having his revenge on Brightman, if only through one of her
students.

She had told herself when she had put her
hand to the plow that she was ready for any consequences. But being
prepared for consequences and then enduring the business end of
them were two entirely different things. She had a feeling that she
would have much more on her plate than burnt bacon.

Discovery was upon her.

~~~~

Christophe

The messages had been sent, and the minutes
crawled by as they waited for responses. The arrangements had been
made, and Humboldt's cousin was already on his way. It was all over
but the waiting. This far away, waiting was all they could do.

Christophe had never been good at waiting.
That was when his feet tended to have a mind of their own. He
wandered to the bridge, where a message from Thorvaldson waited for
him. This time, with the admiral's message in hand, his feet
carried him to the Gun Control chamber, where a damage control
detail repaired the damaged walls.

A swabbie scraped away at a stubborn stain
near one corner. As Christophe approached it, he realized it was
blood. He told the man to carry on, and the man took a moment to
wipe his brow.

"I'm sorry this is taking so long, Captain.
This is a rough job, if you take my meaning."

Christophe nodded and regarded the spots of
his friend's blood on the wall in silence. He could feel the
message from Thorvaldson in his hand, and he could remember what it
said: condolences over their loss, approval of Mr. Pritchard's
promotion to first mate, and a report on the situation back home.
Russian warships were moving towards the straits around the Sea of
Marmara, in a standoff over the TIA blockade. The TIA still refused
to release any of their research. The French had completed their
own walking machines and were positioning them in Alsace. No shots
had been fired, not yet, but they wanted their territory back. And
if they engaged the Germans over it, Thorvaldson feared what would
happen next.

Christophe knew that even if he had been on
Earth, there was little that he could do to prevent what the
admiral could sense coming. He felt some solace that his crew was
able to help someone back home, and he prayed that the keeper of
the Badger and Tentacle made it on time. Prayer would have been
Miguel's answer, and Christophe began to understand why. At the
very least, it made him feel a tad less helpless when things were
out of his hands. Christophe took a moment to indulge in one for
his friend's soul.

"Leave it," Christophe said.

He traced some of the spatter with his index
finger. Rather than revulsion, he felt an odd comfort in the wall's
blemish. With it there, he could almost feel Miguel's presence in
the chamber.

"Sir?"

"Yes, leave it as it is. Just bolt a new
panel over it. We will deal with it when we get back to Earth."

The mate sighed with relief. "Aye, sir. Thank
you, sir."

~~~~

Gemma

Gemma paced in her shrinking cage. Waiting
was a slog through a deep sludge in which she never seemed to move
forward. The captain did not come. Frau Knopf came and went with a
tray, and still he did not come. Muddy time sucked at her ankles,
and she strained her ears until she thought they would pop in
listening for his footfalls.

No message. No crackle from the speaking
tube. No hastily dashed missive on a scrap piece of paper. No
frenetic whisper carried by a trusted crewmember. Nothing. The only
thing she could feel was the eye of the unknown Watcher upon her,
so close that the hairs on her neck stayed at attention. Her skin
crawled with gooseflesh.