20 Million Leagues Over the Sea

by K. T. Hunter

"Maggie," Gemma managed to stammer. She swallowed twice before she could speak again. "This thing, this Martian, is Maggie? This is your other assistant?"

  Maggie squealed and rolled away to the far side of the room and sagged into the floor, like a lump of sad pudding. Gemma blinked again, but the alien was still there.

  "Please don't call her a thing," Christophe said softly. He leaned closer and whispered, "She's very sensitive."

  "Impossible," Gemma whispered.

  The Invaders were all dead. They could not survive contact with humans for long; that was the gospel of the Invasion Chronicle. What, then, was this creature that sulked in the corner?

  She stumbled over her words. "Th-that Martian…"

  The monster gurgled as Gemma spoke and huddled even more into the corner, if that were possible for such a brute.

  "She saved you," Christophe said with more than a twinge of indignation in his voice, as if she had called his mother a warthog. He leaned back into the chair beside her low bed. "She pulled Rathbone off you before-- well, before. You should be grateful to her."

  "Saved me? Grateful?" she cried. "To an enemy? Christophe, these -- these demons -- they killed my parents! Cervantes' parents! Brightman did this--"

  "No, no, no, love," Christophe cooed as he took her waving hands into his own, "the Martians did that. This is Maggie. She's one of us. She's Terran."

  She could not bear the hope shining in his eyes. Her gaze trailed down to his hands, which seemed to swallow up her own smaller ones between them. If he had stated that dragons had taken up gardening at Windsor castle, she would not have been more stunned. Despite the throbbing behind her own eyes, she sat up, hands still caged within the captain's, and turned her attention back to Pugh.

  "Where is Rathbone?" Gemma demanded.

  Pugh shook his head as he replied, "The brig. He needed some rest. The poor fellow kept blathering on about Martians on the ship."

  "Well, aren't there?" She yanked her hands away from the captain and pointed a quivering finger at the alien in the corner.

  The elderly scientist folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall near the moping Maggie. Pugh sighed, as if he were repeating a formula to a lazy student for the forty-fifth time. "Maggie is just as Terran as you or I, Gemma. She's simply not human."

  "Terran? Human? What's the difference?" she sputtered.

  "A great deal, I'm afraid," Pugh answered.

  Gemma pursed her lips as she realized that something did not add up. "You and I are human, you said. What about Christophe?"

  Pugh spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Christophe just beamed at her with that ridiculous, toothy, full-faced, open-mouthed raised-eyebrow grin of his.

  "Well?"

  "Well, I am Terran," Christophe admitted. "Close enough."

  Gemma sank back into the pillows. His face crumpled as she recoiled from him, but she could not help it. All the wind had blown out of her sails at last. She focused her attention on Pugh, instead, so that she could not see the agony bubbling up on the captain's face. Hysteria jousted with Curiosity deep in her mind.

  This cannot be, she thought.

  She had often mocked this young man in her thoughts for being not quite real. She had had no clue that she was right.

  Curiosity won.

  "You're going to have to explain that," she said at last, unable to disguise the weariness in her voice.

  "Maggie is not the only one of her kind," Pugh said. "There are several second-generations. Remember that crash on Mount Cook I mentioned on your first day? The victims weren't human. That's why it wasn't in the papers."

  "There are others?"

  "Most of them are in the custody of other departments. Who do you think did most of the construction work in orbit before Shackleton Station was finished? The poor brutes." Dr. Pugh sniffed. "Well, our Martians are better than their Martians, of course."

  Maggie gurgled. Pugh turned to her and said, "Yes, yes, I am sorry, Maggie, you are still Terran. I was simply making a point. Give the girl time."

  "I don't understand. Where did she come from? The Chronicle said--"

  "The Invasion Chronicle only told part of the story. Not all of the Invasion Orphans were human, Gemma," Pugh explained. "The Martians 'bud off' without sexual recombination, thereby creating a perfect copy of themselves. They are especially prone to do this if they sense death is near. We know this because we have witnessed it. Several of the Invaders managed to bud off after they had fed and before they had perished of disease.

  "They left their children behind. Living children. Children nearly identical to the parent, with one major exception. Apparently, they have the ability to control what Code the copy receives, as long as they have that Code in them. Do you remember their means of nourishment?"

  "They drink blood! How could I forget?"

  "Yes. To them, though, the consumption of blood is far more than sustenance. It is the collection of data, of Code. Once a Martian consumes blood, it seems, the Code within is available for use. These particular Martians managed to mix enough human Code with their own, and enough of their victims' antibodies, to give their progeny human immunities. Therefore, their children did not die from our diseases. Maggie is one of those children. But something went horribly wrong with her, at least from a Martian point of view. She has far more of the human touch than they expected. She is hardly, as the Chronicle would say, 'cool and unsympathetic'. She has the heart of a lioness, and she protects her cubs. She loves. She understands."

  Maggie purred her way through the end of Pugh's speech. Gemma felt as if she would vomit, and she had to work hard to ignore Christophe as he fidgeted next to her.

  "So, she is partly human? And her children will have her immunity? Can she--"

  "Species is no object," Pugh said. "Naturally, we feed her from livestock and not from people. She has budded off several times and produced a variety of other creatures." Gemma could not help but notice his slight glance in Christophe's direction.

  "I think we should tell her all of it," Christophe said. "We've gone this far."

  "What else is there?" Gemma asked. "What makes you just Terran?"

  Dr. Pugh rested his hand on Christophe's shoulder. "As I said, species is no object. And it doesn't take much of a sample to capture a Code, if that is all one wants. A crumb is sufficient, instead of the cake entire, if one is not hungry, to get the job done. We don't have to kill to copy."

  Gemma's thoughts froze. Comprehension escaped her, or at least, she wished that it had. She looked from Christophe to Pugh, then to Maggie, then to Pugh and back again to the young man in front of her.

  "Dr. Pugh," she asked, unsure of how much longer she could remain so calm in this tiny spot of insanity, "h-how much blood did you have to give to Maggie? I know there is some of you in there somewhere." Christophe looked shocked at her conclusion, but Pugh simply smiled at her as she stammered on. "I've heard you call him 'son'. Don't deny it. I am a trained observer, Dr. Pugh. You have only sharpened that knife in my time with you. You are his father!"

  Pugh laughed. "That's my Llewellyn. I knew you would figure it out eventually. Yes, yes, I am his father. Well, after a fashion. But I'm not the only one." At Gemma's puzzled look, he added, "Later. You are a tad weak for the whole story just yet, child. Suffice it to say, long ago, we gave Maggie some Code samples. We asked her to use them to create a commander for us. We needed a leader for this mission. She budded off. That bud now sits before you."

  Gemma stared at Christophe in a state of utter shock. She had seen no sign, no evidence, that he was anything other than a randy, red-blooded human male. He offered her only another of his nervous chuckles in response. Rathbone's remark about "that failed experiment they call captain" crept out of her memory and leered at her. She had been about to die at Rathbone's hands; his intimation was likely true. Why would he lie at a time like that? No, no, they had not told her everything. Not yet.

  "But you're not… y-you don't hav
e any--"

  Dr. Pugh. "I assure you, child, that many members of the fairer sex have examined him thoroughly and confirmed that he is completely normal. The tests were repeated and redundant, and the results were always consistent."

  Christophe did not even have the decency to blush at that, although he did chuckle. He merely said, "Elias, I think we should tell her everything. There is yet another thing, Gemma. Dear, dear Gemma. There is a chance you could be--"

  "Let's stick with what we know, Christophe. For now, the facts only. There are other things we need to ask her first."

  "I think I've heard enough for the moment," she said. Curiosity screamed in the back of her head, hungry for more, but her Hysteria informed her that it was quite full, for now.

  "You do need to rest," Pugh said. "Dr. Hansard was quite put out that we removed you from sick bay. However, we could not speak openly to you there, once you were out of the worst danger. As for your ribs, you are deeply bruised but unbroken. You are now part of a very small circle that knows of Maggie's existence, Gemma. It is your turn to speak frankly to us, and then we'll let you rest a bit. I have a notion about why Rathbone attacked you, but I need to hear it from you. And so, I think, does your captain."

  Gemma did not answer.

  "He was your Watcher, was he not?" Pugh demanded. "I know Brightman's methods. And you know I know."

  "Watcher?" asked Christophe. He did not seem as surprised as he should be. "Brightman smuggled one of her Boys on board after all?"

  Gemma stared daggers at Pugh. "How much have you told him?"

  "You are here and not in the brig, child. I told him enough. That man tried to kill you. He very nearly succeeded. Out with it."

  "Yes," she admitted. "At least, he said he was my Watcher. I did not know she'd managed to get one on the ship, not until he--"

  She hesitated. Memories of Rathbone gave way to images of Humboldt's face just before he had crumpled to the floor. "What is Mr. Humboldt's condition?"

  "Alive," said Pugh. "Unconscious, last we saw him, but alive. Still in sick bay, since he didn't see Maggie. Don't change the subject."

  "Gemma," Christophe interrupted. "We need to know why he revealed himself. There had to be a reason. Why did Brightman send the pair of you here?"

  He reached for her hands again; when she flinched, he held his hands up in a gesture of resignation and then let them hang limp at his sides.

  "Please," he said. "Please, tell me. As the captain of this ship, I can protect you, but I need to know what the danger is. What were you looking for? Did Brightman send anyone else?"

  She clenched her eyes shut. At this point, there was no reason not to fill in the gaps. She had been Discovered. This man -- if she could call him that -- knew the worst parts of it already. The Man from Shanghai stirred in the back of her mind, and she corrected herself. He knew the second-worst parts.

  "I was not even sure there was a Watcher aboard, until he attacked," she recalled, eyes still fast shut, leaving the memory of Humboldt's research in the vault of her heart. "My task was to search for something called 'Orion'." She opened her eyes to see their reaction, and the look that passed between Pugh and the captain did not escape her notice. "But I have no inkling of what that is. She gave me no details. Just the orders to search for it. He was here, I think, to make sure I found it. He was angry over what happened with Nigel's child. We stole her from Brightman. I honestly have no knowledge of anyone else. But--"

  "Yes?" the two men asked at once.

  "Rathbone said something else." The throbbing in her head raged now, and the noise of it made it difficult to think. She pushed past the agony of it and pulled Rathbone's words out of the haze. "Something I just now recall. 'Time's out. Time's out for everybody. I've got to find it and get out before.'"

  "Before what?" asked Pugh.

  "That is when Maggie struck," she replied. "She cut him off. He seemed most urgent about it, though, as if some disaster were imminent. I got the impression that he might not have revealed himself otherwise. He had decided to take over my task because time was running out. But what the danger was, he did not say."

  Christophe stood, his brow furrowed and his jaw set. "Elias, we must interrogate him. Immediately. The rest can wait. If there is a danger to the crew, we have to know." He looked down at Gemma, every trace of warmth drained from his face. "I leave you here in Maggie's care. I assure you, you could have no better Protector. Rest. That's an order." His eyes softened, ever so slightly. "When we return, if you are up to it, I will take you to see Mr. Humboldt myself. I am certain you would do wonders for each other."

  Before she could protest, Christophe swept Dr. Pugh out of the room through a door that revealed a narrow, dimly lit tunnel. It looked like nothing else she had seen on the ship.

  As the door shut, Gemma locked her gaze onto the gruesome brute skulking in the corner of the chamber, unsure of which of them was the most afraid.

  ~~~~

  Christophe

  "She'll come round."

  He could hear Elias behind him, huffing and puffing his way along the corridor. Christophe did not answer. There was too much that he needed to say, and too much that he did not want to.

  She was no lady. She was a thief. Thieves. There were thieves among his gallant crew, thieves bent on murdering each other. Pugh had tried to warn him, and he hadn't listened. The knowledge burned him. He could not have it. He would not have it.

  "Think, son. Gemma's in shock," Pugh continued. "She's injured. I'm certain she's not thinking straight. Forgive her! We did throw a lot at her at once. She's just not used to the idea." His words came in ragged spurts. "Remember, she could--"

  "I need to get to the bridge first," Christophe barked. "I need to check in with Pritchard. I want to know the ship is safe before I start with Rathbone."

  "Christophe! Stop! Look at me!"

  Christophe whirled upon the other man. His face was a chunk of stone, as if some gorgon had slithered out of the wall and pinned him with its stare.

  "Please, son, listen to me," Pugh said, bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. He grunted a few times before he continued. "She was not ready. You grew up with this. Miguel grew up with this. She did not. Something that is normal and humdrum to us is, well, is miraculous to others!"

  Christophe growled, "I have no time for this nonsense." He turned on his heel and continued his course up the slope. "Go on to the brig and tell the master-at-arms to have Rathbone ready. I'll be there directly."

  "What are you going to do?" The elderly man's words echoed in the narrow corridor. "Please, please tell me."

  "You can't protect me forever, Elias," Christophe replied. He didn't look back, and he didn't wait.

  He arrived at the Ready Room exit. The terror he had felt last time he had passed through it, and the reason behind that terror, came back to him in a rush, and he had to pause for a heartbeat or two. Was that reason still there? All he could see now, when he thought of Gemma, was her face twisted into a knot of revulsion. It was etched into his mind's eye with absolute clarity, a part of his redundant memory whether he willed it nor not. For once, he cursed his perfect recall.

  He pushed his dark thoughts aside as he emerged onto the bridge. Mr. Pritchard towered over the back of the captain's chair. Christophe paused at the door to catch his breath. He watched his new first mate as the man slowly turned this way and that, reading the glass panels and calling to the various stations for reports, then conferring with Mr. Adebayo and Mr. Goldman. The responses were smooth and rapid. It felt odd, watching it from the outside.

  One of the officers looked up from his station and called out, "Captain on the bridge!"

  "As you were," Christophe responded. "Mr. Pritchard, a word, if you please."

  The first mate nodded and joined him by the door. Christophe took him by the elbow and turned the man so that the crew could not see his face.

  "Things sound well in hand, here, Mr. Pritchard," Christophe said in a low voic
e. "I'm just checking in. Anything unusual?"

  Pritchard chuckled. "'Unusual' is relative these days, Captain, but we seem to be flying straight. A few wireless messages have come in, but they were all for Mr. Wallace. They've kept him out of our hair."

  "Anything from Thorvaldson?"

  "Not since this morning. Mighty quiet on that front." Pritchard cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sir, but may I inquire as to Miss Llewellyn's condition? Scuttlebutt has it that Rathbone and Humboldt tussled over her down in the orrery and that all three of 'em got hurt. I do hope the little lady's going to be all right. We're all worried about her up here. We can't get word on her since she's not in sick bay."

  "How do you--"

  "Orderlies. They're worse than a henhouse, sir."

  "Of course. Put your mind at ease, Mr. Pritchard. She is recovering. Safe as houses down in Ladies' Country. Away from the hens."

  Mr. Pritchard nodded. "Good to know. Begging your pardon, sir, but why'd they get all rowdy, you think? Seems mighty strange to me. Fights always starting 'round her. That don't sit right with me. I'm thinkin' about having a comin' to Jesus meetin' with a few of these boys. They need to keep their hands off the ladies. Sir."

  Christophe could not help but smile at that. "It certainly seems that way, doesn't it? I'm on my way to ascertain exactly what happened. I'll be in the brig. Contact me right away if anything, anything at all, seems out of line, all right? You have the conn, Mr. Pritchard."

  ~~~~

  Gemma

  The Thing was staring at her. Gemma could feel it.

  The chamber was cozy, or as cozy as such a brute's nest could be. It was just a bit larger than Dr. Pugh's office. With only a short distance between the two of them, it would take a scant moment for "Maggie" to reach out with her tentacles and drain her dry of blood.

  Gemma tried to shake off the notion as her long years of training took over. She took her eyes off the creature and studied her surroundings. Strange symbols sprawled across the otherwise white walls. The walls shone, reflecting the light from the ceiling in bright spots, and she realized that glass panels floated over the bulkheads. Maggie moved slowly, picking up three of the grease pencils that littered the floor, and scribbled more symbols in three directions on a relatively blank portion of the wall.