Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [165]
One evening as they sat together at a dinner of poached fish and steamed mollusks, Nemo asked in a quiet voice, “Have you heard from Caroline, Jules? How is she? What is she doing these days? Even after I escaped I . . . I thought it might be better if I let her continue to believe I am dead.”
Reluctant to talk about the woman they had both loved since childhood, Verne professed to have little knowledge about what had happened to her. “She’s quite successful, I believe, since she moved her merchant offices to Paris. She invested well and keeps busy, probably still writes her own music that she lets few people hear.”
“And . . . her husband?” Nemo said. “Captain Hatteras. Has he ever returned? Is there any word?”
Verne snorted. “No, and I doubt there ever will be. It’s been sixteen years. She’ll never remarry now, though she could have done so legally long ago. I think she rather likes being on her own. She’s so independent.”
“I . . . I am married,” Nemo said, taking Verne by surprise. “Her name is Auda, a Turkish woman. Caliph Robur presented her to me and I had no choice . . . but we’ve come to love each other. The two of us have a son.” He smiled. “I named him after you, Jules.”
Verne flushed, and admitted his own situation. “I have a wife, myself,” he said, unable to believe that in all the time they’d talked, all the stories they had told, the two men had neglected to mention their families. “We’ve had a son, too. I named him . . . uh, Michel.”
Nemo wistfully scratched his dark beard. “My men and I will return to pick up Auda and my son, and their families as well. I’m afraid I have let Caroline down again.” He hesitated a moment, then looked back toward the bridge and his crew. “We intend to live together aboard the Nautilus and never come back to France. I’ve had enough of so-called civilized lands, and leaders with their constant struggles and murderous intents.” A storm crossed Nemo’s face. He picked at his food, then pushed the plate away.
“Excuse me, Jules. I must go to the helm. I plan to take us deeper into the Atlantic -- where even I have not yet explored. Three-quarters of the Earth is covered with the oceans, you know. I could travel” -- he waved a hand, making up a number -- “. . . twenty-thousand leagues without ever touching land. And I think I just may do that.”
He left Verne to finish his meal alone.
iii
The Nautilus descended to incredible depths. No daylight penetrated the vast underwater canyons. No ray of sunshine passed through the inky black water.
The sub-marine’s layered hull groaned from the pressure. Verne paced the bridge deck, glancing sidelong at the thick porthole glass, as if expecting to see cracks appear at any moment. Nemo seemed calm and confident, with complete faith in his vessel. From time to time the crewmen looked at their captain, then returned to their duties. Liedenbrock, the metallurgist, examined the hull plates, then placed his ear against them. He nodded to Nemo, who gave the order to go deeper still.
Strange, phosphorescent sea creatures swam about in the blackness like glowing candle processions. Tiny cold lamps sparkled from bizarre beasts that no fisherman had ever caught.
“We will compile charts of this landscape, for the sake of science,” Nemo said. “But I will not provide this knowledge to the world’s governments. Their leaders would find some means to turn it to a violent end.”
Verne opened his mouth to disagree, then clamped his lips tight. After everything his friend had endured, a mere author had no right to argue with him. After the oppression of Rurapente, Nemo seemed to have lost some part of his heart; his old spark of enthusiasm had turned into a gray ember.
Nemo said in a distant voice, his face expressionless, “Here, embraced in the womb of the oceans, my men