20 Million Leagues Over the Sea (50 page)

Gemma wondered what voice Caroline heard in
her head when Maggie spoke. Was it Jennie's voice she heard, as
Gemma did? Or was it a completely different voice? Caroline pushed
back her chair and stood for a good stretch and yawn.

"I'm punching the cards to get the book
itself into the A.E.," she said as she pointed to the text on the
desk. "Then I'll write some code that'll take the message from
their cards and just print out the plaintext for us. Having to
include the metadata, the page numbers and such, is a bit of a
bother. It's going to take a while to get it all in, but I'm hoping
that once it is done, it'll be faster than decoding them by
hand."

"A book cipher? Oh, I love those! Which
book?"

Maggie picked up the volume with a delicate
flourish and held it up to one eye. She curled the end of one limb
beneath it and flipped through the pages at an astonishing rate
with yet another. She chuckled as she went.

"How charming!" she said. "What a darling
little spy story."

"You can read that fast?"

"Of course."

Gemma tapped her chin, pondering
possibilities. "Maggie, do you remember everything you read?"

"You mean, do I store it in my redundant
memory?"

"Yes. Could you, say, remember what is on a
given page, given line, given position?"

"If I read it with that kind of recall in
mind, yes. I don't record everything automatically. It has to be
deliberate."

"I wonder if you might do another favour for
me. Would you read it again, store it that way, then read this
message?" She held up a still-encoded message. "Decode it?"

Maggie flipped back to the front of the book
and read it again. She then plucked the paper from Gemma's hand
with a free limb and held it up to her other eye.

"Oh, Wallace has been a busy fellow," she
observed as the blue orb tracked back and forth across the page.
"And a bit naughty, I must say."

"Can you write it down for us?" asked
Gemma.

"Or just type it up on the reader here?"
asked Caroline.

"Certainly."

"Lovely!" Caroline exclaimed. "That'll save
me a lot of drudgery. You're even better than an engine,
Maggie!"

That comment, like a dart, shot into Gemma's
mind and lodged in her grey matter as soon as the Boolean uttered
it. It echoed some other thoughts that Gemma had had over time. The
ideas tumbled over and over in her head... engines and code, code
and engines...

"Speaking of code," Maggie said, "I have
something else for you. The answer to your question."

"Question?" asked Caroline. "What
question?"

Gemma held her breath. Her torso screamed at
her, but she held it anyway. She did not know what answer to hope
for.

"Yes. She is."

Gemma blew out the held gasp of air. Tears
spilled down her face, both in relief at finally knowing and in
dread at having to share the news.

"I... I don't get it," Caroline said. "What's
wrong, Gemma? What question?"

Gemma patted an empty spot on the bed. "Come,
sit here. I have some news for you. About Jennie."

"Jennie?"

"Shouldn't we tell Elias first?" asked
Maggie.

"No, no, I want to know now. Oh, don't tease
me!"

"I will go to him, then, and tell him now,"
replied Maggie. She placed the books and papers back on the desk
and opened the cabinet door once more. "I will return later to
finish our work. This will be easier if it comes from me. In
person. And if he's already lying down."

In the orrery, the planets were silent,
frozen in place since Rathbone's attack. There had been no time
since then for repairs. Nigel stood at the rail in his dungarees
and stared at the miniature
Fury
stalled in mid-air. The
actual ship had never stopped moving, but its tiny twin was
immobile. Instead of a kinetic sculpture, the orrery was now a
tableau, stuck for a moment in time, like a painting, frozen in a
splash of emerald, azure, and shades of crimson.

Nigel cradled a gigantic wrench against him.
He looked weary, like a farmer surveying ice-squashed fields that
had been in full bloom the day before. He would not look at Gemma.
Maggie, sensitive to his feelings, was absent, leaving the task of
revelation to others. Gemma had thought it would be happy news for
the Boolean, that his child had a grandfather, one with as generous
a heart as Dr. Pugh's.

"No," Nigel said. "No, that can't be. My
Jennie was an Orphan. Like me. She told me her parents were dead.
She knew for certain. Are you saying my wife lied to me?"

"That was no lie," Gemma said. "She told you
what she thought was true."

Nigel snapped his head around to her and
snarled, "And what would you know about it? You know far too much
about her -- you've done too much for her. It can't just be for my
sake. It's as if you knew her. Knew a side of her that I
didn't."

Pugh squeezed her shoulder to hold her back,
but the truth wailed for release. Even if it made him feel worse,
Nigel needed to know. He needed to know what sort of monster
stalked his child. Even the captain, had he been present, could not
order her silence now. Secrecy would only fester inside of her
until it was set free.

"I did know her," she replied.

She could hear Pugh sobbing softly behind
her. He had known for many years what had happened to his child,
but that did not soften the blow of hearing it again. Nigel's
knuckles went white as she told him. The story wound out of her
like a ball of Frau Knopf's yarn being sucked through Maggie's
lightning-fast needles. Tears slid out from underneath the wire
rims of his spectacles as the words spilled across the floor in a
flood.

Brightman. Computers. Stealth. Codes.
Secrets. Theft.

Death.

Nigel covered his ears and howled. "I don't
want to hear any more! It's too fantastic! Too horrid! Not my sweet
Jennie!"

"I knew her as Philippa."

"And you, Pugh," he sobbed, "what did you
call her? What was her name?" His question echoed around the cold
walls of the slumbering orrery. "What was her name?"

"Cora," he said, his voice that still, soft
breeze after a storm. "My little Cora."

"Cora," Nigel repeated. "How did she die? I
mean,
really
die? Did you know that was going to happen? Why
didn't you tell me earlier? Perhaps we could have--"

"I didn't know anything until it was too
late," Gemma sighed, her own vision slightly blurred. "I did not
make the connection until--"

"Until you saw my pocket watch," he said,
recollection dawning on his pain-twisted face. "It was like you had
seen a ghost."

"I had, Nigel. I had seen a ghost. Brightman
had told me, told all of us, that she was dead. My only friend in
the world was gone. Oh, Nigel! I am sorry she is gone. I am sorry
for the life we were forced to lead. But I am glad, so glad, to
know that she had some portion of happiness with you."

"Did she? Did she, really? Did she love me,
or was I just another job?"

"I don't know, Nigel. I honestly don't know.
I don't know if Brightman sent her to you, or if she ran away and
was tracked down later. I don't know how you met her. From time to
time she had whispered to me that there was a better life out
there." She choked for a moment and glanced at Dr. Pugh for a dose
of strength. "I wasn't ready to believe that. I do believe that,
now. And I want to believe that she loved you, that she was happy
with you. Happy to become a mother, however briefly."

Pugh said, "I want to believe that, too. I've
known you for some time, lad. I know you loved her well. I, too, am
glad my Cora, Gemma's Philippa, and your Jennie, was with you, of
all people."

"Was she truly with me? Can I even be sure
that--"

Gemma stopped him. "I can never know anything
for certain, but I would wager that she is your child. You have a
father-in-law! A daughter! You have living family! That is more
than most on this ship can boast!"

Pugh said, "There is a way to tell for
certain, when we get home, if you have doubts. Maggie can--"

"Keep that beast away from me!" he bellowed.
He flung the weighty wrench against the globe of Mars, and the fury
of it dented a new crater in the crimson orb. "You cannot change
what it is by giving it a name! Damn Mars! Damn the Martians! Damn
the Invasion! And damn you!"

"Nigel--"

"Get out! Leave me be! Get out, get out, get
out!"

As the days passed, they closed in on the Red
Planet and picked up the pieces floating in the wake of Wallace's
sabotage. Between Dr. Hansard's strict supervision and the maternal
clucking of Frau Knopf, Gemma healed. Her bruises faded, and the
complaining of her ribs softened to a whisper.

Dr. Pugh recovered as well. In their mutual
convalescence, they took many walks in the Garden, which was
undergoing a healing of its own after the power outage. Dr. Pugh
told her tales of her famous father, and she told him about the
life of his daughter. Arm in arm, they followed the paths that
wound about the Gardens. They passed Herr Knopf as he fussed over
his frostbitten cabbages and hovered hawk-like over Rathbone as the
man set stone urns of petunias to rights. The former wireless
officer -- and Brightman Boy -- had not a glance to spare her as
she passed by.

She spent time with each member of the
Cohort, at Pugh's urging, to learn about each one's research.

"It's all rather dry, Miss," the linguist
said as he showed her the fruits of his labour. "Very technical,
very efficient. The lack of metaphors makes the translation easier
to understand, though."

"Had they no poetry with them? No novels?"
Gemma asked. "We brought so much literature with us."

"Not a syllable, I'm afraid," he replied.
"Not even the Martian version of a dirty limerick. They are
brilliant engineers, but I am afraid their conversation at tea
would be rather dreary."

Later she perched upon her lab stool and
pored over the journals. She wished to solve Pugh's mystery of the
Nautilus
dates, but she also wanted to search for other
clues about Aronnax himself. The last time she had been in this
spot, she had not had a scrap of a hint about her parents'
identities. Now, she read the words written by her father, one who
had never known of her, either. What would they have made of each
other if they had ever met, she wondered.

She brushed the dog-eared record of his
famous journey under the seas with her fingertips. She allowed
herself a light chuckle when she recalled that this man's daughter
was on an even more perilous journey through a completely different
kind of sea, with a man who was at once the son of his host and of
his protégé.

Perhaps she should start a journal of her
own, documenting this journey from a woman's point of view, like
Nellie Bly...

"Good to see you smiling again."

She lifted her eyes to see Christophe lurking
on the other side of the lab bench with a curious grin on his face
and a book tucked under one arm.

He placed the book on the lab bench and
pushed it towards her. The cloth on the cover was so faded that its
original colour was difficult to determine. The frayed corners had
seen better days. The gilt letters on the cover had been brushed by
fingers one too many times, and she could barely make out the
title:
Captain Stormfield's Visit to Mars and Other Tales
.
She beamed when she saw the author's name.

"More Twain?" she asked. "I've never seen
this one before."

"Yes! He wrote it after meeting Maggie."

"He met Maggie?"

"One of the few outside the labs to do so. It
was a limited run, though. The TIA found it a bit too comical and
bought up most of the copies. I thought you could use something
relaxing to read. Journals can be rather heavy at times, especially
that one. I have several books, but I thought that
Physical
Geography of the Sea and Its Meteorology
might have limited
application on Mars." He lowered his voice, and hope shone in his
eyes. "And I thought we should have something to discuss if by some
chance we have another... midnight salon."

He was there again, the laughing boy that she
had found in the gazebo. This man had been her mission, but she had
only discovered that fact when she had broken free of it. Oh! If
she were still under Brightman's sway, how easy it would be to obey
right now. That mélange of command and mischief playing around the
edges of his mouth...

She focused on the book, unable to answer
him. She opened the cover. Her fingers drifted across the flyleaf,
which was wrinkled and freckled with age.

"It's inscribed to you," she said, "by the
author himself!"

"Heh, yes, it is. He and Tesla were great
pals back in the day. He spent a lot of time in the labs, when I
was a lad."

"You must have been very young at the
time."

"I was. But I have an excellent memory, if
nothing else. Couldn't have made it through my academy exams,
otherwise."

She regarded him with narrowed eyes, watching
the playfulness nearly pouring out of his ears.

"Why am I not surprised?" she purred.

They both burst into a laughing fit, ignoring
the curious stares of the other scientists in the room. She felt a
flicker of an undefined warmth kindling somewhere near her toes
that was working its way up into her belly.

She clamped down on the feeling, hard. It was
too close. It was too close to what Brightman had wanted of her.
She would not give Brightman that. She would not destroy that
earnest face. He had once thought she was a lady, but that disguise
was only a candy-coating over bitter bones. Even with all he knew
about her now, he still pursued her, perhaps even more than when he
thought her to be an innocent. But without Brightman's control, she
was drained of everything she had ever known, even of the cynicism
that Brightman had poured into her Girls with every glance, every
word, every cup of tea. Gemma had become a hollow vessel, waiting
to be filled with she knew not what.