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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 strike back, that he need not spend his days in passive misery. The 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.

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 had to strike against the murderous ones, the invaders, the soldiers. The warmongers.

With the Nautilus, Nemo could declare war 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 passed five fathoms beneath the broad wooden hull. Nemo’s crew peered upward through the portholes, assessing the size of the war vessel.

Standing off at some distance, the Nautilus surfaced like a dozing whale. Her front lights glowed a brilliant yellow. Nemo climbed the ladder and opened the upper hatch. With a spyglass 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 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 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. Her crew is trained to fight and kill. Should we follow her until she fires her cannon, until she spills