Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 24

Writing by candlelight in Paris, Jules Verne sent letter after letter to his parents, explaining his daily work and his dreams. Even with nothing more than a cold attic room and little to eat, he badly wanted to remain here. Knowing the quaint country life of Nantes, he felt he could not survive anywhere but in the vibrant bustle of the City of Light.

After all this time, Verne had achieved only the most modest success with his writing, and no fame whatsoever. In the letters he downplayed his poetry, plays, and theatre work, knowing what stern Pierre Verne would think. The older man would be baffled, incapable of understanding why his son would brush aside predictable security.

But even after graduating with his law degree, he had dawdled and made excuses to stay in Paris. Despite his father's plans, Verne did not want to settle into the dull attorney's office on Ile Feydeau.

Now, though, as he finally returned home to Nantes, fresh plans brewed in his mind. He needed to put forward his own case in a way that would make even the greatest lawyer proud.

Pierre Verne and his son sat in silence together in the withdrawing room after an exquisite dinner his mother had prepared. They each drank a gla.s.s of tawny port, each puffed on a cigar. Nothing would ever change, and the elder Verne seemed to prefer it that way.

Scratching his sideburns, the elder Verne sat shrouded in a contented, peaceful silence of routine as he read the Nantes newspaper. With his son beside him, the gruff older man enjoyed the luxury of making pointed and opinionated comments about the news of the day. He read the headlines aloud -- "Treaty of Paris signed" -- and grumbled his appreciation. "It's about time this whole Crimean debacle ended." He jabbed the paper with a fingertip. "I knew that once Tsar Nicholas died, his son Alexander II would prove more reasonable."

Verne perked up. "Is it true then? The war is at an end?"

"What an awful mess for three years." The older man shook his head. He continued to read as if he hadn't even heard his son's questions. "Ah! Here's another triumph for France." While Verne waited, his father took a long puff on his cigar and exhaled a heady-sweet cloud. "Ferdinand de Lesseps, a French diplomat and engineer, has been selected to undertake the largest excavation project in the history of mankind."

"Greater than the pyramids of Egypt?" Verne asked, as he was expected to. He knew all the rules of conversation with his father.

"Pasha Mohammed Said has granted permission to excavate a channel across the Suez Isthmus. It'll take years, but someday ships will be able to sail directly from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea and down into the Indian Ocean. That cuts six thousand miles off the journey from Europe to China." He took a drink of the tawny port. "Good thing a French engineer is in charge."

"A Suez Ca.n.a.l? There'll be enormous repercussions for world trade," Verne said, trying to keep up his end of the conversation. "I wonder if Caroline Hatteras has heard the news, since it will have a dramatic effect on her shipping company." His father muttered an acknowledgment.

Now that the Crimean War was over, Nemo would be returning home. It was entirely possible that his friend's experience as an accomplished engineer might land him a prestigious a.s.signment on de Lesseps' crew. It would be wonderful if Nemo could help accomplish such a magnificent undertaking . . . and it would also keep him in Egypt, far from France and Caroline.

Though nine years had pa.s.sed without word from Captain Hatteras, Caroline still refused to go through the formality of declaring herself a widow -- at least not so long as Nemo remained away. . . .

"Father, we must consider my future," he said abruptly. The elder Verne looked up at his son, bushy eyebrows knit in puzzlement, though Jules knew he was aware of the situation. He had written home often enough about his dreams for a palatable livelihood. "I have studied all the information, sir, spoken with all the appropriate people. I'm certain that I have discovered a way for us to become rich." His words came out like pattering hailstones. "A true career that will be engrossing to me, and successful, too."

"The stock market?" his father said. "Yes, yes, you mentioned something about that in a letter." His voice was unwelcoming, but the younger Verne did not allow himself to be dismayed. To him, anything -- even working in a stock exchange -- seemed preferable to becoming a country lawyer.

"If you have enough faith in me to put up the money, I can invest in a brokerage house," Verne continued. "I will handle my own securities, as well as my family's and friends'."

"And how can I be sure you know what you're doing? You have spent years training to be an attorney," Pierre Verne said, still devoting most of his attention to the newspaper. "What is wrong with being a lawyer? Will you not change your mind again in a month?"

Verne took a sip of the syrupy port. It burned at the back of his throat. "Father, I need to change my way of living, because the present insecure situation simply can't continue. This is the best way for me -- and our family -- to become wealthy."

Without looking up from another news story, his father said, "Dallying with your poetry, and your stories, and your theatre work when you should have been concerned with the law -- you have always been a reckless young man who gets excited about any new scheme. The stock market is nothing different."

"But this isn't entirely new, sir. Many in Paris have been successful at it." He lowered his voice to quash the whining tone. "I know I can do this, Father."

Then he raised the point he knew would be most convincing to his mother, who would, of course, be one of his primary defenders. "If I get such a position on the stock exchange, I will be seen as a man with a stable career and ambitions. I must have that if I am ever to be . . . married. I am twenty-nine already. You do wish me to get married soon, don't you, sir?"

Now Pierre Verne folded the paper and sighed. "Your mother certainly does." He puffed on his cigar in silence and stubbed out the b.u.t.t in an ashtray.

Verne waited until he could contain himself no longer. "I need to be happy -- nothing less than that, sir."

His younger brother Paul had gone away to sea and was successful in the French navy. His sisters had both married, and now Jules Verne was the last of his parents' children still unattached and unfocused.

"Very well," Pierre Verne said gruffly. "At least it has better prospects than writing those silly plays of yours."

Overjoyed at his victory, Verne pumped his father's hand in grat.i.tude. As he thought of the Paris stock exchange and the bustle of well-dressed men buying and selling securities and commodities, Verne knew that he had a very exciting life in store for him.

viii

Even though hostilities had ended in the Crimea, for Nemo and his fellow prisoners the war was never over. Not while Caliph Robur held them captive.

It had taken them only a few days to explore their facilities and take stock of their situation. In their temporary barracks of canvas and piled stone, the boatbuilder Cyrus Harding had spoken in a hushed voice with the metallurgist Liedenbrock as they concocted a possible plan of escape. "We could steal a boat, and I could sail her," Harding said. "We'd cross the Aegean to Greece."

"Ach! Why do we not just find another city on the Turkish coast?" Liedenbrock smacked a fist into his palm. "Any place will be better than to remain here in slavery."

"No, no, no! The guards will stop us," Conseil said, eavesdropping. "We are in a strange land. None of us could ever pa.s.s as Turks."

Nemo joined the conversation. "Consider how isolated this compound is, men. Far from prying eyes. Robur chose Rurapente well -- the mountains, the deep water, the lack of roads. He is an evil man, I sense, but he is not a fool. Besides, there are almost thirty of us. One or two might slip away, but never the whole group." He looked at the prisoners, who listened to him intently. "I say we should all help each other. We have no chance if we try to act alone."

Harding nodded, thrusting out his square, dimpled chin. "Got to agree with you there, Captain." Surprised, Nemo realized the boatbuilder had used the t.i.tle as an honorific. It felt . . . right to him.

The German-born metallurgist heaved a heavy sigh. "Ach, even if I am making it back to Sardinia, I will be thrown into the prison again -- unless Caliph Robur intends to give us each a purse of gold when we go." He gave a bitter laugh.

From what the prisoners had seen thus far, the caliph was not a man to pay for anything he could simply take. The industrial laborers at Rurapente had been recruited from Turkish villages in the Anatolian highlands, probably without the Sultan's knowledge. Some were slaves, others hostages; a few seemed content with their tasks, which were no more difficult or onerous than any other service for their masters.

By now, Nemo had learned that the industrial complex was capable of producing the finest materials, and the Europeans were allowed free access to books and experimental apparatus. But as yet, Robur had given them no specific instructions, only the speech about his grand vision. Then the caliph had ridden away up a steep mountain path on important business, which had kept him away for several days.

His mind sharp, Nemo refused to waste any time. He spent every daylight hour memorizing the details of Rurapente and the surrounding landscape, hoping to find some way to use it against the caliph. At the same time, he struggled to pick up as much of the Turkish language as his mind could hold. It would be useful. . . .

By himself at night, he spent many restless hours trying in vain to engineer an escape that would leave none of his comrades behind. When he grew too weary to think and threw himself onto one of the narrow sleeping pallets, images of his beloved Caroline -- just out of reach -- haunted his dreams. Far more than a year had pa.s.sed. By now, Captain Hatteras would have been legally declared lost at sea, and he and Caroline could have been together by now, married . . . happy.

But instead, he was trapped here, a prisoner.

Caliph Robur returned after a week, riding on his magnificent stallion. The guards sounded a blaring note from a strange musical instrument to summon the group of captive scientists, engineers, and technical experts.

"Men, we are taking a journey into the mountains," Robur said. His jaw clenched, and the jagged scar on his cheek wrinkled up. "I have a demonstration to show you."

The men mumbled in consternation, but displayed no overt disobedience. Robur turned his horse and called over his shoulder. "Once you observe what I have done, you will share my enthusiasm about our future. Mine is the ultimate vision for progress. " Thrusting his pointed beard forward, he smiled . . . but no mirth reached his glittering eyes. "Then you will all agree that I am an enlightened leader, who will rule through technological advancement, rather than fanaticism. If I succeed, the world will indeed be a better place."

Though wary, the prisoners were in good shape and well-nourished. Robur set off up a zig-zagging mountain path that took them along sheer cliffsides. Guards followed their every move. Even mousy Conseil did not lag behind as they trudged past trickling waterfalls and rockslides, until they reached the Anatolian Plateau, a wilderness peopled only by a few nomads.

They camped at night on the gra.s.slands, wrapped in blankets as the warm wind picked up. In the distance they could hear the bleating and copper bells of a shepherd's flock, but the melodic tinkling was soon overwhelmed by the sound of Liedenbrock's loud snores.

The next morning the twenty-seven men and their armed escorts marched along the edge of the plateau until the trampled dirt road ended. There, they saw a secret installation Robur had built into the stark cliffs. Gazing at the out-of-place facility, Nemo found himself intrigued. The other engineers and scientists gasped in amazement. Conseil squawked in disbelief.

Robur had built an enormous weapon mounted into a notch in the stony cliffs: a cannon barrel longer than an entire ship. The black tapering cylinder thrust into the sky, supported by iron girders. The muzzle was aimed high, pointing upward out into the Mediterranean distance.

Robur reigned up his horse. He said nothing at first, just letting his captives stare down at the incredible cannon barrel. The German-born metallurgist placed a hand on his jutting brow to shade his eyes. "Ach! How is this possible? To cast such an object will have been too difficult even for a master craftsman."

Robur's Turkish pride got the better of him. "The Columbiad Columbiad is the largest cannon in the world -- the longest gun barrel ever constructed in human history. It is named after the great Western explorer, who discovered new continents, though many told him it was impossible. We do not listen to the impossible." His thin smile had no mirth. "Its length from breech to muzzle is nine hundred feet. The diameter is ten feet. And I, Robur the Conqueror, have created it." He looked straight at Nemo. "Imagine the projectile that can fit inside, Engineer." is the largest cannon in the world -- the longest gun barrel ever constructed in human history. It is named after the great Western explorer, who discovered new continents, though many told him it was impossible. We do not listen to the impossible." His thin smile had no mirth. "Its length from breech to muzzle is nine hundred feet. The diameter is ten feet. And I, Robur the Conqueror, have created it." He looked straight at Nemo. "Imagine the projectile that can fit inside, Engineer."

The captives mumbled to each other, but Nemo stepped forward and squinted along the angle of the barrel. "It's an artillery piece that lets you fire cannon b.a.l.l.s across the Mediterranean?" In his mind, he calculated the range of such a cannon, but had trouble believing his own answer. Robur must be as mad as he was ambitious.

The Caliph brushed the comment aside. "Your a.s.sumption is false, Engineer. Not every creation is driven by war -- as you will see, once I rule the world. An enlightened leader can foster many wonders for the human race."

He gestured toward the gigantic Columbiad Columbiad. "No, this cannon is not a weapon of war, but a device for scientific pursuits." He smiled again. "With it, I will fire not an explosive artillery sh.e.l.l. . . . I intend to launch men to the Moon."

"I'd not want to ride in such a ship," Cyrus Harding observed. Nemo refrained from comment, his brow furrowed as he considered the parabolic trajectory. Offhand, he did not know the velocity required for such a shot to escape the Earth's gravity and reach outer s.p.a.ce.

"Everything is prepared," Robur said, "and today we test the Columbiad Columbiad. That is what you must see." He swiveled to take in the group of captives. His flushed face held a pa.s.sion that infused his words with a plea for understanding. "You, my technical experts, must understand what I can accomplish, what you you can be a part of . . . even if the Sultan himself does not yet grasp the concept." can be a part of . . . even if the Sultan himself does not yet grasp the concept."

Busy people moved in the outbuildings around the facility, making preparations for the exhibition. Nemo felt a sudden dread that the caliph would ask for a volunteer from among the prisoners, a test subject to ride in this fanciful projectile to the Moon . . . and if so, he planned to fight.

Robur led them to the cliffside, his movements electric with enthusiasm. He remained on his horse and gestured for the others to enter a doorway and descend carved stone steps into chambers excavated from solid rock. After Nemo and the others had entered the complex, Robur dismounted, giving the stallion to one of his white-clad guards, then he followed.

The stone-walled chambers held workers, supplies, and materials to fulfill the technical requirements of the purported moonshot. The base of the immense cannon nestled in an iron cradle mounted into the living rock.

Dominating the echoing room stood a conical projectile that resembled an armored pavilion. Climbing ladders to reach the capsule's hatch, slaves loaded crates of supplies, cages of chickens, cushioned chairs, and even a goat through the opening. Pudgy, well-dressed men in flowing robes inspected the operations from ground level, looking very important. The men turned toward the newcomers, then bowed deeply when Robur entered.

"We are completing the final preparations, Caliph," one of the men said, tapping his knuckles together with a clink of jeweled rings.

"We are most gratified that you have given us this opportunity to prove the correctness of our calculations," another said in a watery voice, more terrified than eager.

"I would have it no other way." Robur's voice had a warning edge.

By now, Nemo understood enough Turkish to deduce that these men must be court astronomers and perhaps an amba.s.sador of the Great Sultan who ruled the Ottoman Empire. Caliph Robur had chosen them as his representatives to the Moon. Nemo considered them all fools.

Robur stroked his pointed beard and straightened his turban. He continued to watch the preparations, explaining nothing to the captives. Judging by the glint in his eyes, he wanted the prisoners to figure everything out for themselves.

Cyrus Harding spoke up. "Do you intend to send these men on a journey into s.p.a.ce? They're going to be launched in that capsule?"

"I have chosen them as emissaries -- in the Sultan's name, of course. They will take everything they need, including fresh food and water, supplies, even baubles for any Moon men they encounter. I intend to open the lunar world for trade with the Ottoman Empire. When he learns of our success, the Sultan will be most pleased."

Nemo narrowed his eyes. So, the Sultan did not know everything Robur intended. Several of the astronomers trembled with poorly disguised fear at the prospect. Though he resented the warlord, Nemo had to admire the grandeur of the man's dreams and the lengths to which he would go to achieve them.

"How long do you expect the flight to take, Caliph?" Nemo asked. "And how will the men return to Earth after they succeed in reaching the Moon?"

His expression stony, Robur clenched his jaw. "Those questions remain to be answered."

As he watched the slaves loading the supplies, Nemo remembered the bustle of preparation before the Coralie Coralie had sailed from Nantes. This journey would be far different from a simple sea voyage. had sailed from Nantes. This journey would be far different from a simple sea voyage.

Conseil's round, blinking eyes displayed his astonishment. "No one has ever been to s.p.a.ce. No one knows if the Earth's atmosphere extends to the Moon . . . or what strange air the Moon men might breathe."

"Nevertheless, our astronomers have no choice but to risk the journey," Robur said. "I have ordered them to do this for the glory of their omnipotent Sultan."

When the slaves finished loading the crates and animals and jugs of water, the astronomers climbed up and poked their heads into the capsule opening, one by one. Whispering among themselves, they finally agreed, then stepped back down, gesturing with ringed fingers and flowing robes. Robur climbed the ladder and peered inside the crowded sh.e.l.l. Satisfied, he climbed back down and bowed to his astronomers and amba.s.sador.

Servants bustled in and laid out colorful rugs for the astronomers. Each man knelt and prayed vigorously. Then they stepped off their rugs, rolled them, and tucked them under their arms before climbing into the capsule. Robur saluted them, and the men waved back before another slave sealed the hatch from the outside.

Using a system of gears and pulleys, ma.s.sively muscled slaves loaded the heavy artillery sh.e.l.l into the enormous breech of the Columbiad. Columbiad. With a clang, the endcap slammed shut and locked.

At a signal from the caliph, the guards commanded everyone to evacuate the complex. Though the workers had little understanding of the experiment, they did not need to be told twice, having seen the huge amounts of black powder poured into the explosive chamber.

Robur took one last look at his magnificent cannon, then gestured to the stone stairs that led out of the caves. His eyes glistened with a fire of antic.i.p.ation. The prisoners followed him to the plateau, from which they could watch the Columbiad Columbiad fire its shot. fire its shot.

Nemo had seen much smaller cannons fired aboard ship, and from his engineering studies he knew all about dynamics and inertia. He did not envy the volunteer astronomers who sat inside the capsule. In fact, he wanted to be far from the mountain when the mammoth gun blasted its projectile to the skies.

"Don't know about you, but I'd watch out for the recoil," Cyrus Harding said.

After the prisoners emerged into the bright sun, they hurried along the cliffside paths. One of the slaves was commanded at swordpoint to return to the cave and light the cannon's long fuse.

Back on his stallion again, Robur galloped to a clear area on an elbow of land that had been designated as an observation point. The guards herded their European captives over to stand beside the caliph. "My best engineers made their calculations, and my best metallurgists completed this construction," the caliph said, staring at the gun that protruded from the cliff. "I have every confidence that they did their jobs correctly."

The giant gun remained silent in the sunshine, its muzzle pointed upward. Seconds pa.s.sed, and the waiting became an agony.

The hapless slave came running out of the cave complex, his face filled with terror after lighting the fuse. His legs pumped as he dashed along the path; he tripped and sprawled on his face, but managed to gain his feet within an instant.

With a thunderous roar and a belch of smoke like an iron dragon vomiting fire, the Columbiad Columbiad spoke. spoke.

An explosive clap hammered the observers like a physical force. Poor Conseil fell backward, and Nemo reeled on his feet. Caliph Robur's horse reared in panic, but the turbaned warlord gripped the reins and viciously brought his stallion back under control without once taking his eyes from the spectacle.

The projectile leaped from the muzzle of the 900-foot-long cannon, soaring into the sky with the speed of a bullet. Nemo couldn't even imagine the horrendous forces that must be slamming the pa.s.sengers against the rear of the capsule. Within seconds, the artillery sh.e.l.l dwindled to a dot, arcing high into the Mediterranean sky, far beyond the stretch of the Aegean Sea and out of sight. . . .

Then, an unexpected avalanche occurred at the breech end of the cannon. The Columbiad Columbiad's recoil proved so terrific that the gigantic artillery weapon hammered back into the mountainside and broke free a chunk of the cliff. Huge slabs of rock sloughed off in a spray of powder and stone dust, then fell down the sheer precipice into the deep blue waters below.

Fire burned from the rear of the cannon and slowly, slowly the muzzle broke from its iron strut-supports, groaning and drooping.

Caliph Robur stared, his expression grim. The other captives, who had been amazed at the triumphant shot, now groaned as the Columbiad Columbiad broke free of its mounts. With inexorable grace, the huge gun dropped away from the cliff with an excruciating shriek of torn metal and falling boulders. broke free of its mounts. With inexorable grace, the huge gun dropped away from the cliff with an excruciating shriek of torn metal and falling boulders.

Nemo watched with hidden satisfaction as the rest of the tumbling cliffside accompanied the cannon in its plunge. Once it struck the water, the enormous black gun barrel took several seconds to become completely submerged. It sank without a trace into the churning froth.

After a long moment, Caliph Robur turned to his European experts, who stared in disbelief at the disaster. His voice was cold. "As you can see, I needed better engineers."

ix