Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [163]
“Jules Verne, is that you?” the man called in an oddly familiar voice. It was deeper and rougher . . . yet it reminded him of someone he’d known as a young boy. “Come aboard and see my Nautilus.”
At a loss for words, Verne opened and closed his mouth. The terror had trickled away, leaving him numb with awe . . . and, yes, even a little curiosity. A small boat detached itself from the armored craft, and the lone man rowed toward him. “Jules, don’t you recognize your old friend? It’s me -- Nemo.”
Verne stared at the man as he brought the boat to shore and stepped into the shallow water. His friend’s face had changed: now in his mid-thirties, Nemo had grown leaner, his muscles tougher. A neatly trimmed beard covered his chin, and his dark eyes had a hard look, as if he had seen much more than he could ever explain.
“Nemo . . . but I -- we -- thought you were dead. Caroline and I both received a notice from the Department of the Military. It said you were killed in the Crimean War.” He legs felt as if they were about to give out, and he would faint backward onto the beach.
“Not exactly killed, as you can see.” His smile was grim, without a trace of humor. “You and I will have plenty of time to share the entire tale, Jules. I think you’ll want to hear about my adventures.” He reached out to haul Verne’s valise into the metal-hulled boat. “Follow me -- you will be amazed. It’s about time you came along on one of my voyages.”
Taking Nemo’s hand, Verne climbed into the small boat and sat unsteadily. “I . . . I’ve always meant to go on an adventure.” As Nemo rowed back out to the armored vessel, Verne thought of the tiny rented skiff he had taken down the Loire, which had broken apart and stranded him on the isolated sandbar. “I would have gone on the Coralie with you. Honestly.”
“And now you can go on my Nautilus.”
After Nemo docked against the iron-plated vessel, the two men stepped onto the wet outer hull. Verne felt wobbly on his feet. Awkward, he leaned forward and embraced his old friend, still numb with shock. Nemo patted him on the back, then laughed with genuine warmth. “Come below into the vessel. You have a grand adventure ahead of you, just like we always talked about.”
They descended a metal-runged ladder into the sub-marine boat. Verne stared in wonder. A square-jawed British man with a prominent dimple stood at the bridge, calling orders to the crewmen, all of whom wore the same strange uniform. When Verne asked about it, Nemo tugged at the dark fabric on his shoulder. “We kept these outfits as a badge of honor, after we escaped from Rurapente.” Seeing Verne’s confusion, he said, “I hope you brought along a journal to take notes. Do you still want to be a writer?”
Verne nodded, patting his valise.
One of the crewmen sounded bells, just as on a sailing ship, but the crew had no ropes to tie, no sails to set, no anchors to cast off. The propeller of the Nautilus began to turn with the vessel’s powerful engines. One sailor climbed up to seal the upper hatch, and then the craft headed away from the coast of France.
Verne stared out the portholes, but could see little in the ocean shadows. A cold shiver crept down his spine as the angle of the deck tilted and water covered the thick windows. His heart constricted with the realization that they were now beneath the ocean. Sweat popped out on his forehead. The Nautilus struck out into the wide Atlantic, and Verne hung on for dear life.
For hours he observed landscapes he had never imagined. Fishes darted to and fro, glittering in the illumination from the forward lamps. Rocks never touched by human hands made strange formations and undersea mountains.
Nemo stood beside him with a satisfied smile on his face. When Verne’s astonishment had faded to a manageable level, Nemo clapped him on the shoulder. “Come into the salon. Let me tell you everything that’s happened to me in the past ten years.”
In the large, opulent room they