20 Million Leagues Over the Sea (36 page)

"It's your message, the one you wanted me to
research," he said. "Try as I might, I could never find the archive
copy. I've looked everywhere but under the hay bales on the stable
deck. I don't think the wireless blokes ever gave it to us. That's
regs, miss. They're not supposed to lose messages. But that's not
the weirdest part. See this?" He pointed to the timestamps. "Here,
you got your time they sent it and the time we got it. See how
close they are?"

Gemma shook her head. "I don't understand. Do
the electromagnetic waves not travel fast enough for them to be
close in time?"

"When we're on or near Earth, I'd agree with
you. They travel at the speed o'light, though. The farther out we
get, the longer the delay. See here, look at other messages sent
around the same time." He showed her the other messages in his
hand. "The delay between send and receive on each one of 'em shows
a lag time, except for yours. That can only mean one thing--"

A yelp of surprise cut Humboldt's thought
short. He crumpled to the floor to reveal another man behind him, a
man brandishing the length of pipe that had just collided with the
Boolean's head.

"You've been a naughty girl, Artemis,"
growled the leering face of Rathbone.

Instinct blossomed in Gemma's brain. She
kicked at the pipe to disarm him and missed. Rathbone leapt
backwards with an astounding grace, as if they were dancing.

"Don't expect to repeat Shanghai here, love,"
he purred. "He wasn't ready for you. I am."

Watchers were silent. Invisible. There to
Watch and Protect. Philippa would sometimes whisper to her at
night, alone in their room, "If you ever see your Watcher, he'll be
the last thing you ever see."

Her Watcher swung the pipe again with great
force, but this time she blocked him with her arms crossed high.
The impact jarred her smaller frame, but she absorbed the hit all
the same. Gemma wrenched the pipe from his grasp and released the
loudest scream she could muster. Any mere mortal, she could handle.
But a Watcher? She would need help.

Rathbone slapped the pipe out of her hand,
and it rolled out of the circle of light. It disappeared along with
the echoes of her cry.

He lunged at her with a sneer. She tried to
block him again, but his move was only a feint. He seized her arm
and flung her to the deck as effortlessly as he would a rag doll.
She rolled to her feet and scampered out of the light to catch her
breath and think.

"Nowhere to run, love," he said as she
dissolved into the darkness. Coiled like a panther ready to pounce,
he planted himself between her and the chamber door. "Only one way
out of here. All I have to do is turn on the lights, love, and
you're all mine."

Then, an image came to her, unbidden and
hazy, of another door, one marked "Gearage Chamber". And yet
another vision followed, as she crawled along in the darkness,
timing her movements with the slow groans of the orrery. It was the
impression of a horse racing across a great rocky plain, with a
gleaming red planet hovering just over its far horizon.

"All I have to do is turn over your
messages," he jeered. "'I've decoded them,' I'll say. 'She's a
spy,' they'll say. 'Out the airlock with her,' Cap'n'll say. Bad
way to go, love, bad way to go. Not so quick a snuff as you might
think. Might as well let me do it, love. I'll knock you out first,
at least."

She hazarded a look back at the chamber door,
but all she could see was Humboldt's crumpled form and the
silhouette of the much closer Rathbone. She could not run that way.
The impulse to flee was overpowering; it was even stronger than her
instinct to fight. She looked to the only light in the room, the
orrery's miniature sun, and a plan of action clicked into
place.

The orrery covered two decks, pushing its way
through a hole in the floor plates like a mammoth whirling tree.
The model Mars crept its way around the outside of the railing with
its two moons. That must be the Mars in her mysterious vision! This
metal tree would have to be her path to safety. It would be tricky,
but it was her only choice.

Rathbone could block her every move. He would
wear her out. He would take her down. And it would be over. She had
just found her life. She was not about to yield it up to the likes
of him.

"What, running now?" he taunted. "I do
believe you've gone soft, Llewellyn. Time was you'd stand and
fight. You took down that fellow in Shanghai right sharp and
proper, but since then you've been worse than useless."

Her heart pounded so hard that it threatened
to burst out of her chest. She reined in her breathing as well as
she could, gathering her strength as she crawled towards the Red
Planet. She swallowed down the bitter lump of terror rising in her
throat.

"Too bad you didn't know who it was you
snuffed," he continued. She could hear his footsteps retreating in
the dark. He preferred the advantage darkness gave him. "Might've
given you a good turn if you did. But you've not been right in the
head since, all the same. Botching the jobs. Leaving the best bits
behind. Not skewing the tables enough to throw them off."

She remained silent, wishing for a fleeting
moment that the Man from Shanghai was with her, for once. At least
then she wouldn't feel so alone. Where was Christophe? Had he
figured out Rathbone's trickery yet? There was still no movement at
the door and no answer to her scream.

Where is everybody
?

She edged forward, taking her time under the
cover of shadows, with the edge of the strongest light yet before
her.

"I think you've gone more than soft, though.
You've gone positively daft out here. And for what? A baby? Or that
failed experiment they call captain? Fallen in love, real love,
I'll wager. I should have reckoned if we couldn't beat it out of
your little Mrs. Davies, we'd never be able to beat it out of
you."

The mention of her beloved friend wrenched a
howl from her. She raced for Mars. She ran harder than ever in her
life; her heart thundered. The pressure in her head urged her on
and on, pushing her and pulling her; and like the swift current of
a raging river, it was impossible to resist.

Rathbone caught her movement and gave chase,
but she reached the railing first.

Mars rose before her. Mars was her only
hope.

Rathbone shouted after her as she grasped the
slick metal. She did not look back, and she did not stop.

As she vaulted the railing, she kicked out
against the control levers. The orrery lurched from its plodding
real-time stroll to a trot, and then that tiny park of celestial
time burst into a full gallop. She fought to keep her balance on
the narrow pole that revolved around the crimson globe like a
merry-go-round. It was just wide enough for her narrow feet, and
the hope beat wild in her breast that it would be far too small for
her pursuer.

He called after her as she lurched across the
narrow pole to the trunk that held Mars. Its whirling made her
dizzy, but she did not let go.

"I've Watched you for a long time, girl. You
were the best!" He followed her course around the tracks. "But
Shanghai ruined you. Glad she got me into the Academy after that so
I wouldn't be wastin' my time. That's why she sent you out here.
Out to pasture. She was done with you before you even launched,
girl. She just sent you on one last mission, hoping to squeeze one
last drop of worth out of you. But you mucked that up, too."

He pursued the sphere with surprising grace
and speed as he spoke again. "Finding Orion is my job, now."
Rathbone the warrant officer shed his skin, and the Watcher emerged
at last. "Brightman wants it. Brightman needs it. And I'm going to
get it for her."

She took a leap of faith from the pole of
Mars and just managed to miss a collision with the edge of the
track. She landed on the topmost gear beneath the crimson globe.
Her knees and ankles protested the shock. Ignoring his mockery, she
peered over the side to find the next step down. She couldn't see
the bottom of the pit, but it had to be down there, somewhere. The
floor of the gearage chamber was lost in a sea of deep shadows. The
ship was not bottomless, though, so she was able to fight down the
surge of panic in her belly. The gear kept moving beneath her. She
was a branch carried along in a swift stream that had curled into
an eddy. She would have to time her jumps carefully. He was coming,
he was coming, and there was no time to waste.

She could only jump down to the next visible
gear, which was as far as she could go without tumbling to her
death to the unseen floor below or between the crushing gears. They
no longer sang the relentless song of ocean surf; they roared with
the rage of a mighty waterfall.

She had to get down. Somehow, she had to get
down to the deck below. The images flooded her mind, images that
whispered "home" to her, even though the concept of "home" was as
foreign to her as the Red Planet. One image, like some dusty memory
just now recalled, told her that the floor was shelter. The floor
was safe harbour. If only she could get there, she would be safe.
Somehow, she would be safe.

She jumped down again, but she landed in a
heap and nearly tumbled off into the darkness. Gasping sharply to
catch her wind again, she peered around at the platform that had
caught her. It was a hidden track that the gear she had just
escaped trundled along. Her overestimation of the height had caused
her bumpy touchdown. She could not tell how long it would be before
the gear swept around again.

The gears were whirring faster, and still
faster; Rathbone must have mucked with the controls. She could
sense him moving above her, having gotten past Mars at last. Her
reserves were running low; but still the drive to get to the floor,
no matter the cost, seared her brain. Rathbone was fumbling his own
way through the strange maze, but he was learning fast and closing
in.

Bruises from their bout blossomed across
Gemma's body, and they screamed for relief. Panting with fatigue,
she eyed Rathbone's silhouette, only to find him not on his gear
but hurtling towards her, aiming at her, and she could no longer
move fast enough to escape him. They fell, locked together, off the
side of the circle, and plummeted to the floor.

They sang a chorus of pain as they landed in
a heap. Gemma's skull bounced off the hard deck. Before she could
recover her wits enough to scuttle away, Rathbone pinned her to the
floor. He straddled her and squashed her beneath him. He was so
much taller than she was that her legs could not get purchase
behind him. Squeezing her sides between his bony legs, Rathbone
wrapped his long fingers around her slender throat, pushing into
the tender flesh there so deeply that she thought he would rip
right through her skin.

"You'll follow Cervantes out the airlock," he
growled as he pressed down upon her like a boulder. What little air
made it past his fingers squeaked and squealed in her throat.
Screaming was beyond her power now. "You and that Humboldt. She
wants you both gone. You'll all be gone, before too long. But she
wants you first, you little minx. She wants Pugh to hurt, hurt bad,
before it's all over, and taking you out first will pierce him
right through. Orion's mine to find, now, and they'll be too busy
looking for you to worry about who's looking for some stupid
file."

He was pressing the very life out of her. She
writhed beneath him, but in his frenzy, he was much too strong for
her. She could not move. Her ribs could not expand enough for her
to inhale. The space around her grew ever dimmer as Rathbone's
words descended into something akin to madness.

"We were supposed to find Orion," he snarled
through his clenched teeth. "I had the wireless. You had the
scientists." He leaned low, nose brushing her forehead and sweat
dripping onto her, choking off any last hope of another breath.
"There's something here, something more than this stupid ship. When
we launched we had plenty of time to find it, but now, time's out.
Time's out for everybody. I've got to find it and get out
before--"

A primal screech cut him off. Some dark and
solid mass collided with him and ripped him off Gemma's body. She
rolled over twice from the force of it. It landed on top of him
several yards away. She wheezed and gasped, trying to breathe past
the burning in her side, like a drowning woman who had broken the
surface of the sea at last.

The last thing she saw, before the world went
completely black, in the dim light filtering down from the orrery
above, was the giant squid from her nightmares, pinioning a
shrieking Rathbone beneath its meaty tentacles.

~~~~

Christophe

Christophe fumed his way to the command deck,
searching for Mr. Rathbone. He was irritated at the man's
interruption, but he stuffed the feeling down into a dark corner of
his brain. He had commanded enough ships to know that captains
rarely enjoyed a moment's peace.

The warrant officer was not there. Christophe
caught the eye of Mr. Adebayo and fired off an inquiry.

"Sir, we haven't seen him," the midshipman
replied. "Not since the memorial service. He didn't leave any sort
of message for you. He's supposed to be back on duty in half an
hour, though."

Christophe shook his head in puzzlement,
about to answer, when a sudden buzzing sounded in his head.

"Humboldt, you rake," he hissed to
himself.

A queasy wave rolled through his stomach, and
he felt the urgent need to locate Gemma. He was not sure whether to
run to the orrery or Ladies' Country first, but he had to start
somewhere. He reached for the speaking tube when he received a
sudden flash in his head from Maggie. Maggie called to him, called
to him the way she did when words were not fast enough.