Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 31

Aboard the Nautilus Nautilus, the crew sank into a heartsick silence. The men from a hodgepodge of countries and cultures drew closer together than ever, unified by their circ.u.mstances and their losses. They performed their duties like the walking dead, all hope of happiness lost in one cruel stroke of fate.

Feeling hollow, Nemo stood at the bridge, gripping the metal rail. Finally, out of desperation, he gave the order to depart from the Turkish coast, taking painful memories with him and leaving nothing else behind. With engines at half power, the Nautilus Nautilus cruised away from the ugly scar of Rurapente. cruised away from the ugly scar of Rurapente.

He vowed never to return. Never. He'd had enough of warfare, suffering, and death. He wanted nothing to do with humanity's bloodshed and cruelty.

As the ocean folded over the underwater boat, he stared into the blue-green wilderness. Every time he encountered people, every time he tried to make peace with society and live with his fellow man, the results were disastrous.

He thought of the pirates attacking the Coralie Coralie. . . . They had killed Captain Grant and stranded him for years on the desert island. Then he'd traveled across Africa and been captured by slavers. Next, he'd experienced the horrors of the Crimean War, and then lived as the prisoner of a murderous caliph . . . which caused him to lose Caroline in the bargain. And he'd just seen what had happened to Rurapente, to Auda and Jules.

Fate hadn't claimed their wives and children: People had. Warmongers. Warmongers.

For years Robur had extolled dreams of benign technological superiority for the benefit of his people. But the Nautilus Nautilus had been designed for no purpose other than war. The caliph had meant to terrorize peaceful sailing vessels and extort a ransom for all trade entering the Red Sea. had been designed for no purpose other than war. The caliph had meant to terrorize peaceful sailing vessels and extort a ransom for all trade entering the Red Sea.

After so much time, Nemo remained appalled at the ability of men to cause pain and suffering. Certain men were bred to be bloodthirsty killers, and they brought crimson shadows to the entire world. Violent conflict had always been abhorrent to him, and now his hatred of it grew even worse.

He had lost so much already.

The sub-marine boat cruised through the Mediterranean, as if in a daze itself. The crew remained withdrawn for days, eating just enough food to keep themselves alive. They had no goal now, no destination. Their dreams of utopia with their families had died along with Rurapente. . . .

Nemo considered abandoning the sub-marine boat, returning to Paris, and trying to recapture peace in the arms of Caroline. Surely she would welcome him again, though it had been so long, so many years. Jules Verne had said she still refused to remarry.

But in his moments of solitude he could imagine only the death cries of Auda and his young son. He could not bear to rush back to Caroline as if nothing had happened, as if he intended to forget his wife and boy. The thought of trying to fit in with French society terrified him.

Nemo tried to salve his grief by staring for hours upon end at the bliss beneath the seas. He never wanted to leave here, never wanted to face any aspect of war again. But even as he hid under the sea, warmongers continued their painful march across the canvas of history. No one would ever stop them.

None of the men even suggested heading for their respective countries. Nemo did not want to return to the world at all. He was through with mankind. He would let the so-called "civilized" people continue their vicious fighting until they learned their own lessons. . . .

Days later, at the height of his anguish, it occurred to Nemo that he could could strike back, that he need not spend his days in pa.s.sive misery. The strike back, that he need not spend his days in pa.s.sive misery. The Nautilus Nautilus itself was a tremendous weapon. It had been designed to inflict terror upon other ships sailing the seas. But while Caliph Robur had intended to prey upon merchant ships or peaceful travelers, Nemo realized he could use the sub-marine boat against another kind of vessel. itself was a tremendous weapon. It had been designed to inflict terror upon other ships sailing the seas. But while Caliph Robur had intended to prey upon merchant ships or peaceful travelers, Nemo realized he could use the sub-marine boat against another kind of vessel.

Warships.

He could sink navy craft filled with weaponry -- battleships whose only aim was to wage war. In so doing, he could prevent the slaughter of innocents, stop warships in their tracks, and sink their deadly cargoes to the bottom of the sea.

He could make a difference, and only the guilty need pay the ultimate price.

Nemo felt no loyalty to any particular nation. He had seen patriotism used as an excuse for further bloodshed, and he wanted none of it. No more innocents must die -- even if that meant he he had to strike against the murderous ones, the invaders, the soldiers. The warmongers. had to strike against the murderous ones, the invaders, the soldiers. The warmongers.

With the Nautilus Nautilus, Nemo could declare war on war itself on war itself.

vii

As chance would have it, the first battleship they encountered flew the Union Jack of the British Empire. With running lights extinguished, the Nautilus Nautilus pa.s.sed five fathoms beneath the broad wooden hull. Nemo's crew peered upward through the portholes, a.s.sessing the size of the war vessel. pa.s.sed five fathoms beneath the broad wooden hull. Nemo's crew peered upward through the portholes, a.s.sessing the size of the war vessel.

Standing off at some distance, the Nautilus Nautilus surfaced like a dozing whale. Her front lights glowed a brilliant yellow. Nemo climbed the ladder and opened the upper hatch. With a spygla.s.s to his eye, he peered toward the warship as the sun set, coloring the distant horizon with yellows and orange. surfaced like a dozing whale. Her front lights glowed a brilliant yellow. Nemo climbed the ladder and opened the upper hatch. With a spygla.s.s to his eye, he peered toward the warship as the sun set, coloring the distant horizon with yellows and orange.

"Mr. Harding, prepare for our first . . . statement." Nemo studied the ship and counted the cannons protruding from hatches above the waterline. Wearing a grim expression, he descended back to the sub-marine's bridge. As if wearing blinders, he fixed his thoughts on a single point in the future, not allowing himself to think too much on what he was doing. He had made up his mind and would not be swayed.

"She is a vessel of war, gentlemen," Nemo said. "Perhaps even a privateer, government-sponsored pirates who are free to attack other ships . . . so long as those ships fly the flags of an enemy nation."

Aboard the British warship, men in Royal Navy uniforms marched the decks and gathered to look at the distant metal-hulled sea creature. Lying partially submerged, the Nautilus Nautilus must have appeared to be a strange monster with a razor back, armored skin, and glowing yellow eyes. must have appeared to be a strange monster with a razor back, armored skin, and glowing yellow eyes.

Nemo's crew fidgeted, though they had discussed their plans at great length. Scratching stubble on his dimpled chin, Cyrus Harding voiced his reservations, which echoed those of the other men. "Britain was my home, Captain, a long time ago -- and that warship carries a good many English sons. Where --"

Nemo raised a hand to interrupt him, not in a display of temper, but of firm resolve. His anger was directed outward, not at his crew. "The Nautilus Nautilus is our only country now, men. We have no allegiance and no territories. If that were a war vessel from France, I would be just as willing to strike our blow. We have separated ourselves from the rest of our race. And, ironically, we must become crusaders for the rights of humanity." is our only country now, men. We have no allegiance and no territories. If that were a war vessel from France, I would be just as willing to strike our blow. We have separated ourselves from the rest of our race. And, ironically, we must become crusaders for the rights of humanity."

"But, Captain, what about the humanity aboard that ship?" Harding persisted. "Do they all deserve to die?"

Nemo glowered, agonized, but intent on his decision. Like ravens' wings, he heard the dying screams of innocents around his ears. "Gentlemen, that vessel was built to serve one purpose alone -- to commit acts of war to commit acts of war. Her crew is trained to fight and kill. Should we follow her until she fires her cannon, until she spills more innocent blood, and then take our revenge?" He could not drive away the image of burned Rurapente, the thoughts of Auda and young Jules drowning after their fleeing boat was sunk by enemy cannons.

"We must attack any target we find, any bully of the seas. By doing so, we save every person that battleship would have killed and prevent the destruction those cannons would have caused. The only victims are the warmongers themselves, not the innocents . . . like our families were." The other men looked away, cowed and ashamed. "Today -- now -- we remove one more weapon from the hands of the world's navies."

Seeing the blaze in their captain's eyes, the men went back to their stations. The air stank of nervous sweat. Nemo stood motionless at the bridge and waited, gathering his nerve. Finally, speaking for himself as well as the crew, he said, "Men who make a living by waging war do not deserve our mercy. Remember Rurapente. Remember what happened to your wives and children."

He pushed away images of Caroline and his happy times with her, the five weeks in a balloon over Africa, their precious intimate moments aboard the ship on the way back to France. No, those memories would not keep him strong. "Remember."

In his mind, Nemo saw it all again: the flames, the screams, the scars . . . the warlords fighting each other. The Light Brigade led into slaughter in the Crimea. The villains like Caliph Robur and the ruthless slavers in Africa. The pirates who had sunk the Coralie Coralie and slain Captain Grant -- and slain Captain Grant -- Nemo gave the order for the Nautilus Nautilus to submerge. He had never tested his beloved vessel in such a terrible manner, but he knew the integrity of his design. He knew what the to submerge. He had never tested his beloved vessel in such a terrible manner, but he knew the integrity of his design. He knew what the Nautilus Nautilus had been created to do. had been created to do.

He closed his dark eyes for just a moment and summoned an image of beautiful Auda and little Jules. He tried to find peace, tried to find a purpose. But he could no longer think of them without envisioning the charred bones in the ruins of Rurapente. He thought of Auda murdered, of young Jules pulled beneath the dark water, trying to suck in a breath of air as their ship sank -- "Full ahead," he said. "Ramming speed."

The engines growled, and the propellers turned. The Nautilus Nautilus leaped forward like a hungry shark, spewing a wake just below the surface. Yellow eyes from the forward lamps burned the seas ahead of them. leaped forward like a hungry shark, spewing a wake just below the surface. Yellow eyes from the forward lamps burned the seas ahead of them.

"Brace yourselves, mates," Cyrus Harding said, cool and collected, an engineer to the last.

The dark shadow of the British warship's hull loomed closer and closer. The Nautilus Nautilus streaked toward it, picking up speed. The armored metal saw-ridge on its bow was sharp, ready to eviscerate. streaked toward it, picking up speed. The armored metal saw-ridge on its bow was sharp, ready to eviscerate.

With a hideous, resounding crunch, the sub-marine boat crashed into the underbelly of the battleship. The impact sent a deafening clang clang through the hull of the through the hull of the Nautilus Nautilus, and the shock hurled the crew to their knees.

The relentless engines continued to roar. The sub-marine boat sawed like a battlefield surgeon's blade amputating a diseased limb. The hull of the British warship tore open, a mortal wound that shattered its keel and burst the bulkheads.

"Full stop!" Nemo called and turned to watch, sickened at what he had done and yet refusing to regret his actions.

The gutted warship seemed unable to grasp what had just happened. An explosion sent a m.u.f.fled boom through the water, probably from a ruptured powder storehouse ignited by stray sparks.

At a safe distance, Nemo gave the order to surface again. Several silent, awestruck crewmen climbed up through the hatch to stand on the outer hull of the undersea vessel, where they observed the death throes of the warship. At least they were far enough away that they could not hear the cries of pain and pleas for rescue from the doomed British crew. . . .

Then, with a morbid fascination, Nemo submerged the sub-marine boat and cruised beneath the wrecked hull. The shattered warship continued its slow and ironically graceful plunge toward the bottom.

Outside the windows of the salon, he could see burned and broken hull timbers, tangled rigging, and bodies . . . many bodies of dead navy men who'd had the misfortune to go to sea on the wrong battleship. His breathing became quick and shallow.

Many of the Nautilus Nautilus crewmen turned away, but Nemo stared with gla.s.sy eyes. He had a mission in his hardened heart now, and he owed it to himself and his crew to face his conscience, to see the frightening reality of what he had done. crewmen turned away, but Nemo stared with gla.s.sy eyes. He had a mission in his hardened heart now, and he owed it to himself and his crew to face his conscience, to see the frightening reality of what he had done.

When he left the salon and addressed the crew, his voice carried no guilt. "Henceforth, if a warship bears arms and carries cannon to sink other ships -- then I declare that vessel fair game." He drew a deep breath and stared at the destruction for another long moment, trying not to let questions rise like spectres in his memory, trying not to think of the people who had been on board that vessel.

"We will show no mercy."

viii

Back in Paris, Jules Verne continued to write and read, using his imagination for extraordinary voyages, which the readers devoured. He studied the newspapers every day. World events gave him ideas to add to the adventures Nemo had shared with him aboard the Nautilus Nautilus. Sitting alone in his study, he could hardly bear the excitement of the stories he intended to tell. He was glad he didn't have to waste time actually experiencing the adventures. . . .

For months now, the international press had carried remarkable stories about warships sunk, vessels attacked and destroyed by a terrible "sea monster." Oddly, the creature attacked only ships of war, but did not discriminate as to nationality. The naturalists of the world held a conference in London and argued about the origin of this creature, imagining a gigantic narwhal or some prehistoric beast arisen to attack ocean-going craft.

Day after day Verne read the reports with interest and horror, unable to deny the obvious answer. He told no one, of course, but he understood immediately what must be going on.

The Nautilus Nautilus, an armored sub-marine boat designed for purposes of warfare, had to be the culprit. And Nemo himself was behind the attacks.

ix

French readers loved Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, published in two volumes beginning in 1869. Verne accepted his success in a daze, believing the wonderful comments he heard, and finally he allowed himself to revel in it. He felt his heart swell with the long-sought literary fame.

At lunchtime, as Honorine prepared a plate of cold meats, cheese, and fresh berries, Verne received his copies of the newly released gift edition from Hetzel. The book had been released several days before, but Verne often didn't see copies of his own novels until some time later. Engrossed in new stories, he often didn't notice.

Opening the package, he held up the volumes, delighted with the ill.u.s.trations and pleased to see his name on the cover. A good wife, Honorine dutifully admired the books, as if they were her husband's trophies. She never read his stories, but she placed them lovingly on shelves and displayed them for all visitors.

He grinned at her. "As soon as I completed this ma.s.sive novel, Honorine, I knew in my heart that I'd written my masterpiece," Verne crowed. "This one . . . this one would make even Dumas Dumas proud." proud."

He tapped on the cover with a satisfying thump, then bustled to his writing study where he could pore over every page. Once again, Verne owed this epic to Nemo, the dark-haired and daring friend who had succeeded in so many areas where the author himself had failed. . . .

Over the many months of writing the book, locked away in his study and scribbling in bound journals, Verne had shamelessly borrowed from what Nemo had shown and told him. He'd described the metal-hulled sub-marine boat and even added how it preyed upon warships. He wrote about the exotic landscapes of the sea bottom and even included the terrifying adventure with the giant squid. The novel was his masterpiece.

By couching facts as fiction, no one would scoff at Verne, though he alone knew that the events were indeed true. He had even gone so far as to name his main character, the diligent and curious Professor "Aronnax," after Caroline, of course. It was his way of honoring her in a manner that she could perhaps understand.

The readers of the magazine serialization, though, were most captivated by the brooding and mysterious Captain Nemo, an angry and impa.s.sioned man who had isolated himself from the world, divorced his very existence from human society. Verne's intent had been to make him a dour, driven fellow, consumed with the fires of vengeance, scarred by some terrible (and unspecified) event in his past -- yet the public loved him for his dark pa.s.sion. They saw Nemo as a romantic hero, an enigma that captured their imaginations.

Verne accepted the accolades with good grace, though at home with Honorine he remained perplexed. Even after years of total absence, Nemo still managed to steal Jules Verne's thunder. What is it about the man?

In the novel, Captain Nemo took Professor Aronnax prisoner, along with the bl.u.s.tery Canadian harpooner, Ned Land, and the professor's faithful manservant, Conseil. The three accompanied Nemo on a remarkable voyage to underwater volcanoes, sunken cities, seaweed gardens, and polar icecaps. At the end, the three captives managed to flee just before the Nautilus Nautilus was lost in a terrible maelstrom off the coast of Norway. was lost in a terrible maelstrom off the coast of Norway.

In writing the novel, Verne had exorcised his own demons, his jealousy for the man who had done so many of the things Verne had denied himself. The magnificent sub-marine and Captain Nemo himself were both gone, sucked down into a water vortex, never to return. Verne had felt satisfied, and it was a grand ending.

Caroline, though, was outraged.

She pounded on the door of the flat while Verne was still locked in his private office. When Honorine let her in, Caroline looked appraisingly at Verne's wife, and then marched toward the closed door of the writer's study.

Honorine tried to stop her, but Caroline flung the door open and stood like a valkyrie in the doorway, her russet-gold hair in disarray. Verne turned around, astonished to see her, his face lighting with a surprised smile until her enraged expression registered on him. He faltered. "Caroline! Uh . . . Madame Hatteras, to what do I owe --"

"Jules, how could you do this?" Caroline's bright blue eyes flashed with anger. By the sweat on her brow and the rumpled appearance of her clothes, he guessed that she had marched all the way from her shipping offices on the left bank of the Seine.

Honorine hovered in the background, wearing an expression of stern reproof. "Jules, what is it? Who is this woman?"

In all the years he'd been in Paris, Verne had never introduced Honorine and Caroline. At the moment, however, it did not seem to be an appropriate time. He blushed and sweated, brushing his wife away. "Honorine, would you give us a moment of privacy, please?"

Confused but willing to obey her husband, Honorine retreated to the other rooms and busied herself with housework that Verne would never understand.

"So . . . you must have read my new novel?" he asked Caroline disingenuously, then flashed a nervous grin. "Did you see how I --"

Caroline slammed down her own copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It made a crack like thunder on his desk. "You used my name! You used Andre's. You made up this preposterous adventure . . . and then you killed him. Why? Why? To get even with him for some imagined insult -- or to get even with me? How could you do that? Nemo was your friend."

"But --" Verne said, fl.u.s.tered. He leaned back in his chair, swallowed hard, and scratched his beard, at a loss. He searched over the newspaper clippings and scientific journals in front of him, as if he might find an answer among the summaries in his collection. "I have often used names and experiences from my real life." He sat up, gaining conviction. "As you well know, I used your own lost husband as a hero in Captain Hatteras. Captain Hatteras. You didn't complain then."

She stood, fuming. "Because I did not care about him, Jules. What did it matter? But Andre . . . Andre --"

Verne's heart fell like a stone, and he stared at his notes on the desktop. In a brisk gesture, she swept away the piles of clippings from the wooden surface, and they scattered like a flock of geese fluttering to the floor.

"How can you do so much research, Jules, how can you know so many things about the world -- and yet understand so little about people?"

Caroline shook her head, and Verne saw that reading about Nemo's death had pierced her to the core. She'd always held out hope, since Nemo had survived one ordeal after another . . . yet he had never come back for her, not in all these years, even though she knew he was alive. That had stung her to the core. Reading his book, she must have felt her spirits rise at first, delighted with the story, her sole connection to the only man she had ever loved . . . and then been crestfallen when Verne blithely sank his character in the deep whirlpool.

"I have always encouraged you in your writing, and I have hoped for the best success and happiness for you," she said. "But must your friends pay such a high price for your dreams? You are not the only one who has dreams, Monsieur Jules Verne."

Then Caroline stood straight and composed herself. She smoothed back her loose strands of hair, ran a hand across her damp forehead, and took a deep breath. "He has always been your friend, Jules, and you know he is still out there somewhere." She gave a sad shake of her head. "Many men envy you -- do you know that? You have fame, money, a kind and devoted wife. Why did you need to do this? What more could you want out of life?"

As if slapped, Verne slumped back in his chair. What more could I want? What more could I want? He envied Nemo for the life he had lived lived, rather than just imagined. But Verne had missed the opportunities -- some had been taken from him, like the voyage on the Coralie Coralie, like Caroline's love for Nemo . . . and some Verne had been too reluctant to reach out and take.

But he could say none of these things to Caroline. She watched him intently, as if she could read his thoughts, then she left his writing office and made her own way out the door of the apartment. Before Caroline turned away, he thought he saw a single tear in her cornflower-blue eyes.

Honorine went about her routine, her face worried and curious, but Verne knew it would be a long time before he could explain everything to his wife.

He feared that he had lost Caroline forever.