20 Million Leagues Over the Sea (34 page)

She did not know what she hoped for, really,
except to know that Philippa's child was now safe. The strength she
had felt in the captain's voice as he had given his orders had
struck some chord deep within her, but she could not get her mind
around the sound it made. Nothing beyond that bore thinking
about.

Frau Knopf brought her another tray and
escorted her to the head, but she had no news for her other than
Mr. Humboldt's report that things were still in motion.

It was odd how the ship contracted and
expanded around her. It was such a peculiar metal beast, all at
once as tiny as an anthill or as large as the globe. At the moment,
it was a single cabin with a very large engine. She thought she
would go mad just thinking about it. She would rather face her
Watcher head-on than suffer through this interminable limbo.

As she changed into some nightclothes, she
discovered Nigel's watch in her pocket. She popped it open.
Philippa was still inside it; she had not imagined it all.

Gemma pulled the lock of hair out of the
watch and stroked it with the tips of her fingers. She could almost
catch Philippa's scent in it. With trembling hands, she peeled off
a few strands and set them aside. She opened her own locket and
boiled with fury as she gazed at that stony face. In a frenzy, she
scraped Brightman out of it with her fingernail. She bared her
teeth at the ravaged face and fantasized spitting venom at the
beast for separating her from the one she loved. She scratched away
until her nail ripped, but by then most of the picture had been
shredded.

Questions boiled in her mind and bubbled in
every hidden nook of her heart. Had Philippa gone willingly? Or had
she simply escaped a life that she no longer wanted? Had she missed
Gemma? Had she sent some message, some secret code, along the way
that Gemma had missed? How could Philippa have left her bereft,
except at this monster's command?

Many satisfying minutes later, Gemma slipped
the smaller lock of hair into the photograph's former home. She
shut the locket with a sense of finality. Then she tucked the
remainder of the hair back into Nigel's watch and closed it. She
set the timepiece beside her pile of books to keep it safe until
she could return it.

She tried to rest as ship's night rolled
around on the cabin's clock, but sleep refused to come. She opened
the Cyrus Smith journal. She was still furious with Pugh and not
inclined to assist him, but research was better than boredom. The
castaways of Lincoln Island were receiving assistance from some
unseen benevolent being, much as she, unseen, was trying to aid a
child out of her reach. Agitated by the similarities, she put it
down and picked up the book that the captain had lent her. Even
Twain's famous humour could not soothe her; after re-reading the
same paragraph a dozen times, she put it down as well. The Lyell
book lurked on her desk with an accusing stare. She stuffed it into
the armoire and slammed the door. She then tried to read
Jane
Eyre
, but the bits about the mad woman in the attic won it a
spot with Lyell.

Night and morning blended into one another.
Her internal clock had lost all sense of the sun. She gave up
trying to sleep and wearily resumed her browns.

She examined her mirror and found grease
pencil droppings wedged into the edges. As she dug them out, she
noticed how pale her reflection was. It brought to mind what Frau
Knopf had read at the Knitting Circle. The fate of the Lady was
still a mystery to her, and the mystery made her think of
Philippa's strange words about being half-sick of shadows. She
wasn't sure she wanted to know how the poem ended.

A sudden rap on the door startled her.

"Fraulein?" a voice called through the door.
"Almost time for the memorial service. The captain has asked me to
escort you there."

Gemma opened the door to admit Frau Knopf,
who bore a tray of tea, toast, and a side order of handmade black
lace. Knopf placed it on the desk and studied Gemma's uniform with
a critical eye. She strode over to the armoire, opened it, and
examined the few dresses there.

"You did not pack any mourning clothes?" she
asked. "How optimistic of you." She stepped back over to the desk.
"Ah, I suppose it is just as well. Most of the others will be in
uniform as well, so no harm done. They will have armbands, though.
I made you this one," she said as she held up the length of
intricate stitches. "Nice and ladylike,
ja
? House of Worth
it is not, but it will do." She tied it around Gemma's upper arm
with a firm hand. "You may keep it, Fraulein. No doubt you'll need
it again."

Gemma had thought they would be going to the
parlour, but Frau Knopf led her in the direction of the cargo bay.
Frau Knopf moved with an economy that Gemma could appreciate,
almost too swiftly to read the signs on the doors as they passed:
"Atmospheric Control", "Orrery Gearage", and "Armoury", amongst
others. Still, Gemma was relieved to enjoy the relative freedom of
the corridors after her confinement.

They approached a growing cluster of
crewmembers in front of a completely different sort of chamber. It
was similar to the entrance they had used when they had first
boarded the ship, but much smaller.

The crowd rustled in hushed whispers. They
tugged on their black armbands as they watched a group inside the
windowed room. Four men huddled over a man-shaped mass of shroud in
the floor. They lifted it into a metal canister that gleamed in the
bright light of the chamber.

Frau Knopf halted at the side of the
gathering, and then the matron left her to seek out her husband.
Gemma stared into the enclosure, the airlock that was the terminus
of so many worries and the butt of so many jokes. No one was
laughing now.

Humboldt emerged from the milling crowd and
nodded at her. "It's all settled at last," he said quietly. "Jules
and his Missus have the babe. Bar blokes managed to get her out of
there without anyone following. At least, they think so. They're
all a bit knackered at the moment, but honestly I think it all
worked out for the best."

Gemma thanked him. She was glad for some good
news. She just hoped that they had evaded the Watchers. She knew
too well how quietly Brightman's people could slink about.

Humboldt struggled with his black armband.
Gemma admonished him to stand still, and she adjusted it for him.
He gave her a grateful look, and they stood side by side in silence
to watch the others come in.

The captain passed by with Pugh and Wallace.
Along with Alfieri, they stopped in front of the glass enclosure
and turned to face the crew. There was a brief murmur as the chain
of command asserted itself, and the crowd organized themselves into
neat columns and rows.

Gemma, already on the edge of the crowd,
stayed put next to the Booleans. Nigel was there with his crew,
looking weary but lucid. As the Cohort entered, they collected
around her. Hui and Bidarhalli actually seemed relieved to see her,
and just as they were about to inquire about her health, the
captain called for attention.

The command rippled down through the ranks.
The captain's voice was measured and steady as he spoke. "We are
gathered here today to pay our last respects to our comrade, First
Mate Miguel Cervantes. Before we continue, however, Father Alfieri
would like to say a few words."

The captain moved back into line with Dr.
Pugh and Mr. Pritchard. The priest stepped forward and addressed
the assembly.

"
Eros. Storge. Philia. Agape
. These
are the names for love we have inherited from the ancient Greeks.
There are many forms of love, and we have need of them all. Love
for a sweetheart. Love of a parent for a child or the child for the
parent. Love for a brother or sister. Love for our friends. Love
for our fellow man and love for our Creator. All of these bring us
here today. We are here to celebrate and honour the love that we
have seen in Miguel Cervantes, our first mate, and Jennie Davies,
beloved wife of Chief Nigel Davies and mother of his child.

"Each of them laid down their lives so that
others might live. Cervantes' quick thinking saved the lives of the
gun crew and possibly the entire ship. Jennie Davies yielded up her
life so that a new life might come into this world. Our Lord tells
us that there is no greater love than that."

As she listened to Alfieri's words, Gemma
watched the reactions of the people around her reflected in the
airlock window. It was much easier than staring into the knot in
her own heart that tightened every time Alfieri mentioned Nigel's
wife.

"We need this love. We need to see all the
faces of love, especially now, with this great journey before
us."

Humboldt had his eyes on the priest, but she
could feel the corner of his eye catching her face every now and
then. Rathbone and his crew were just beyond the Booleans, looking
dark and worried.

"Love for our fellows binds us to one
another, as gravity binds the Earth and Mars to the same sun, and
allows them to influence one another, even at distances
immeasurable to us."

Caroline and Nigel were on her other side,
steady at attention. Caroline had a determined look on her face, as
if to tell the world that all the Martians in the universe could
not drag her away from her brother. Her fierceness was contagious,
for Gemma decided, then and there, that she would think of Philippa
as the winsome girl in Nigel's pocket watch and not a victim of
Mrs. Brightman's scheming. She would never think of her as Philippa
again. In her heart, she would only ever call her Jennie. There was
little else she could do for Nigel, now, but she could do that,
even if he never knew about it. The knot in her chest relaxed at
the thought.

"Love heals us. Love transforms us. Love is
the light that we carry with us into the darkness ahead."

Like a statue surrounded by water, the
captain rose up from the pond of all those reflections. Christophe
looked straight at her, straight into her. This was not the
laughing lad on the gazebo bench. This was not even the
spine-of-steel captain that dared confine her to quarters. Here was
a complete stranger, with a veil across his eyes that concealed any
sentiment concerning the figure in the cold and lonely chamber
behind him. The inscrutability of his face disturbed her as she
returned his gaze. She held his mute eyes, and he held hers, as
Alfieri continued to speak.

"We never know where love will lead us. We
never know to what heights of ecstasy we will rise or to what
depths of sorrow we will sink along the way. But love, given its
way, will lead us home in the end, even if not to the home that we
expected."

Home
, Gemma thought, as she turned her
head away from the captain. She could bear that indecipherable
stare no longer.
I no longer have one. If one could even call
that place a home
.

"Never underestimate what love can
accomplish, at whatever distance. We live and we love and we pass
that spark forward -- through our children, through our ideals, our
deeds and our courage.

"Whether for a lover, a friend, a parent, a
brother or a sister, or for a complete stranger, or for the world
entire... do not be limited in your love for yourself or for each
other. Love is an inexhaustible resource. It feeds upon itself.
Love fully. Love freely. And live."

Alfieri raised his hands in blessing.

"May the Lord be with us and show us mercy,
as we show mercy to those we encounter in our travels."

He continued the service, but now he sounded
a bit more official. She guessed that what he was performing now
was some sort of Catholic ritual. She could never hope to
comprehend such things. Mrs. Brightman was the head of her own form
of religion; she would brook no other. Gemma fought to keep the
boredom and frustration from her face. It might not mean anything
to her, but it meant something to her new friends, and she would
not take that away from them.

"Lord God, by the power of your Word you
stilled the chaos of the primeval seas, you made the raging waters
of the Flood subside, and calmed the storm on the sea of Galilee.
As we commit the body of our brother Miguel Cervantes to the deep,
grant him peace and tranquility until that day when he and all who
believe in you will be raised to the glory of new life promised in
the waters of baptism. We ask this through Christ our Lord."

Alfieri finally closed, and after his
resounding "Amen", the captain barked a sharp "
Terra
vigila
!"

"
Terra vigila
!" the crew cried back,
and their chant echoed throughout the cargo bay.

The captain then turned to face the airlock
doors and led them in a salute with a crisp command. Gemma watched
the reflection of his face in the glass, and it never wavered as
the outer doors opened. The canister was sucked away by the vacuum
of space; it vanished in a blink, as if it had never been there.
The knot in her chest convulsed again at the sight. Would it be
that quiet and quick for a living person? She hoped she never found
out.

Christophe lingered in his salute for a brief
eternity. Being a civilian, Gemma did not have to salute, but she
did notice the quivering of the aloft elbows around her. He finally
gave the command to end the salute, and Gemma felt a silent sigh of
relief wash through the room.

"Company, dismissed," the captain said, his
voice devoid of emotion.

As the assembly broke up, Gemma whispered to
Humboldt, "I wonder why the captain did not speak. He and Cervantes
were old friends, were they not?"

Humboldt tugged at his armband. "I think he
wanted to, Miss L. Seems the words might have just been too heavy
to let go, just yet." He nodded at her. "I have to head back to
Informatics. I have a little research I'd like to complete on your
request. I will send word if I find anything. Good day, Miss
L."