Sara knifed her body, swimming strongly away from the submarine, turning herself around, then landing in a circle of white on the ocean floor. Plants and silt burst around her as she landed and was enveloped by hypnotic light.
Shutting her eyes, she swam for Nemo, reaching him from the back, and taking his shoulders. Suspended in the water above him, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t respond. Sara floated, jostling for a reaction, but Nemo was immovable before the enormous doors. The continuous light.
The doors opened.
A wave of water erupted from behind the massive structure as if a dam were bursting, the doors opening inward, revealing two bright, red lights. Smaller and parallel, the lights blasted forward toward Nemo and Sara, as headlamps on a vehicle, coming at them with incredible speed.
It was sharklike, all of white metal, with the lights instead of eyes, a dorsal fin on the roof for guidance. There were skis on either side, and the exhaust of what could be hyper-steam engines protruded from the seamless, metal skin.
The vehicle roared through the deep water like it was air, coming straight for Nemo and Sara. Guided toward them, as the perfect amphibian, swimming and running simultaneously.
Nemo turned, completely aware, and shoved Sara aside, sending them both tumbling to the sand as the vehicle swooped close, making a wide, fast turn through the water, then racing back, its front section opening like an enormous, gaping mouth.
Nemo and Sara could only look above them, at this thing hovering. Descending. Pinning them to the ocean floor.
On the bridge, a burst of water exploded against the dome, wiping out the intensity of the white light. Fulmer leapt to the helm, looking out the view port, to see that Nemo and Sara were gone. The pike was falling as if it had just been let go, and landed in the silt.
Fulmer ordered, “Engine room! All rudders hard right and all engines full speed ahead!”
* * *
Within the vehicle, Nemo and Sara were suspended before a control panel that was nothing but a strip of glowing color, while water and sea life rocketed by the thick glass view port. The vehicle made a wide turn on its own, banking in the water, and came back, slowing its ascent, letting the cabin depressurize for Nemo and Sara to wake.
Behind them, hovering just above the ocean floor, the Nautilus engaged full power.
* * *
Fulmer pushed from the helm, trying to turn the enormous submarine, as the gray vehicle sped out of sight almost instantly. Fulmer could trace the wake of the thing, but it had aimed for the surface, side fins expanding.
Fulmer ordered, “Attention, all crew! Sound alarm! Surfacing now!”
The ballast tanks blew open, the Nautilus responding as a craft half its size, speeding upward, the bow tilted, with engines at full speed.
Fulmer was lurched forward at the helm, one hand in the gloved controls, the other on the steering bar. It was a different helm than he knew, but he could feel the ship. Feel its momentum, and reaction. Its life. Fulmer brought the sub hard-about, fighting to keep a trace of the vehicle in sight.
They broke the surface, the ocean bleeding away from the dome, the Nautilus balancing itself over the waves as the gray, sharklike vehicle skimmed across the water half a mile in front of them.
It bounced on the ocean surface, its bow pointed up.
It turned, spewing a wake, and kept going in a circle, faster and faster, until the side fins engaged, stretching out completely as broad, curved wings, lifting the vehicle from the water.
Fulmer watched, helpless, as it sped toward the horizon, then vanished behind a bank of clouds.
37
THE CITY IN THE SKY
The vehicle was moving so fast, turning in a pattern as it flew about the clouds, that it took Nemo a moment to get his bearings. The cockpit was completely dark, except for the strip of pulsating yellow on what seemed to be a control panel, but was without dials or indicators. The vehicle plunged, and came back, and Nemo’s natural instincts were to control and steer, but he could only keep his hands by his side. The vehicle did it all.
Sara was next to him, still put out by the movements and intensity of the hypnotic light, but slumped forward, her hands on the panel, the yellow pulsations around her fingers.
Nemo had freed himself, let his mind take back his own thoughts and actions, but was waiting for the moment to strike. All of that had been hijacked when Sara tried to help, and then ended when they were pulled from the ocean by this thing that raced across the bottom, and was now flying beyond reach, none of which he could stop or steer. He despised being at the mercy of someone, something, else.
The clouds were shredded to flecks of vapor, his eyes adjusting to the view through the thick glass that surrounded the cabin of the vehicle.
He saw the City in the Sky.
A walled fortress, with four corner towers, each topped with a series of helio-copter-type blades at different heights. Balloons, in docking bays, balanced the sides, with the center dominated by a large aircraft landing port, where the President’s dirigible was tethered, moving in its bay with the winds.
The vehicle flew in a wide pattern, wings banking, allowing Nemo to see, to react in wonder. There were no corners. The entire city, rounded at the edges, reminded him of the mosques and low buildings he had seen from one side of Africa to the other: that combination of places of worship, surrounded by military fortification. He knew whoever built this amazing place must have known those outposts.
But here, instead of walls and domes cooked and beaten by the desert, the buildings were of a clean, futuristic material, with a metallic gleam. Weapons turrets and pillboxes bordered the walls, and a grassy pathway leading from the main structure to all the others was the only evidence of plants.
It was all information; all a realization that Nemo had to take in, and the vehicle seemed to sense it, slowing and circling when Nemo needed it. Letting him assimilate. Connected to him, somehow, as the Nautilus was, but more sophisticated. Much more.
The vehicle whipped by the towers, its flexible wings bending on the air current like a bat’s, then slowed to ascend into the center landing port, next to the President’s dirigible. The doors puzzled-open, and Nemo’s eyes focused, to a figure standing before the vehicle, silhouetted by a halo of bright sunlight.
“Welcome to a perfect world, Captain. My world.”
Sara blinked her eyes. “Father?”
* * *
On the Nautilus, Rongo and Top Knot blocked Fulmer’s way to the helm, with other crew standing by the doors, holding tall switches. Fists were balled, with attitudes bent forward.
“You’re supposed to be at battle stations.”
Top Knot said, “We’ll return to stations, but only if we’re getting the hell away from here. Now.”
Fulmer said, “Those aren’t the Captain’s orders.”
Top Knot said, “I know you had that to say, but we are giving new orders. This ship is bound for home. You, you can take us there or not.”
“I have my duty. So do you.”
Rongo said, “Don’t do this, Mr. Fulmer.”
Several of the men moved around the bridge, grabbing a sextant, instruments, or tools as weapons. One wrenched a lever from the wall. Fulmer stood his ground at the helm, trying for a stare down, but figuring the order to throw his punches. Dropping a big one first, so he’ll block the hatch, giving him time to get away. Pub-brawl thinking.
Top Knot said, “Nemo’s probably dead and we’re not going to be, not now. And God knows what he’s led us to. You crewed this ship when Nemo sank Abraham Lincoln with your own brother on board. Now’s your chance to right that, Mr. Fulmer. You should take it.”
Fulmer kept his chin down, nodding in agreement before laying a heavy fist into a Sailor, sending him reeling. The others attacked. Fulmer pulped a jaw, ribs broke under his fists, dropping the sea dogs, but they brought their clubs down hard. Pounding Fulmer into helplessness.
Rongo threw Fulmer across his back. “We kill him, th
en we’ll hang for sure. Too much blood on this voyage.”
Top Knot said, “Lock him in quarters.”
Rongo hefted Fulmer down two decks, to crew quarters, dumping him on Jess’ bed. Blood was pouring from his mouth and nose, and Rongo tossed an old towel, before locking the door.
* * *
Diving helmets off, Nemo and Sara stood beside the vehicle in the central landing area of the city, its whirring engine winding down, like a watch spring and its works.
Facing them were the towers with the turning blades, the largest at each corner of the platform, and smaller blades along the edges, with gas-filled balloons suspending the walls with heavy cable. Uniformed and armed Air Crew moved between the multiple buildings, carrying weapons or aero-tools. Not speaking, just going about their purpose.
Duncan was all polish and imposing demeanor, moving before Nemo and Sara, the lenses and mousy bent having completely vanished. He sported a military uniform of sorts, black with rows of gold buttons and braid, but claimed no country’s insignia or colors.
Duncan allowed Nemo and Sara to study him for a few heartbeats before speaking. “Captain Nemo. My dear. This wasn’t the way I wanted you to meet me, and this project. But we’re here, and that’s the important thing.”
Sara couldn’t believe what she was seeing around her—including the President’s dirigible—or her father, with a stance, and confidence, she didn’t recognize.
Duncan said to his daughter, “I know you’re shocked,” then to Nemo, “but I thought you’d appreciate that I used a hypnosis technique of your own culture, to guarantee calm travels.”
Nemo said, “I wasn’t affected.”
Duncan took Sara’s hand. “You’ll feel fine in a few minutes.”
Sara regarded him for another, longer moment, taking it in. Then slapped his face. Hard. Nemo created a barrier with an arm between them, but Duncan never flinched at the blow. He straightened, standing taller.
Nemo said, “Remember, she’s your daughter.”
“I do.” Duncan looked to Sara. “And she doesn’t even know her real name. The pity of it.”
He signaled a Guard. “Take Miss Sara to the quarters with our other guest. We’ll see each other later, dear.”
More guards, uniformed and of all ages, seemed to come from nowhere, silently gathering around Sara and guiding her off toward the largest building facing the landing port. Then she was efficiently gone.
Nemo said to her father, “What’s this business about the name?”
“Duncan is a dull, anglicized version. My family name is Robur, and it shall remain so. No more hiding, just as you chose Nemo, and it’s become your legend.”
“The word is who I am.”
“And this place is my name. I told you once I learned a great deal from you. This is the result, the tribute to your inspiration.”
Nemo regarded the gun turrets behind Duncan instead of his words, and walked to the edge of the landing area, bordered by a fence of chains. A gesture from Duncan and the power through the fence was shut off, so Nemo could look over the sheer edge, to miles of sky in all directions, and the ocean, miles below.
He could feel steam wafting back onto his face, created by a series of open pipes pumping vapor from all corners of the structure’s base, creating the gigantic cloud hiding the floating city from the world.
Duncan said, “What you’ve accomplished under the sea, I’ve built in the sky.”
Nemo stepped back from the edge. “That vehicle alone, is certainly remarkable.”
“I christened it the Terror, striking at the hearts, yes? Capable of traveling on land, sea, and air at speeds of—”
Nemo completed, “Over two hundred knots.”
Duncan said, “And what ignorant commander wouldn’t be terrified by its action? Like the Nautilus, its mere existence gives power.”
Nemo said, “You have power, Mr. Duncan. No doubt.”
They were walking back toward the main compound as technicians fueled the Terror, checked its retractable fins, and sprayed the ocean floor from its tanklike treads. It was an automatic system, these men in uniforms, immediately tending to needs. Others were performing maintenance on the dirigible, while still others stood guard.
Nemo couldn’t judge how many there were, but it wasn’t his crew of old dogs: this was an elite army. Trained; moving as one to carry out orders, like the military units from several nations that swarmed the Nautilus, executing his men before his arrest by the United States, or the army from his own country, that killed his wife and children.
It was at this moment that Duncan was not Duncan anymore. He had changed before Nemo’s eyes. As if the kindly academic, with the bursts of strength and humor, had been assassinated, and someone new had taken his place, proud of the killing of his old self.
Duncan was Robur, and he had given orders for all guards to keep their distance. That Nemo was an honored guest.
Robur said, “The Terror’s my Nautilus. Decades of secret research, the trial and error of manufacture. The results, well, you’re the only one who can truly appreciate what I’ve done, gone through, for this accomplishment.”
“This city’s more than your Terror. If the vehicle’s impressive, this place seems a marvel.”
“Praise from Caesar.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
Robur said, “You’ve created miracles. Many of them.”
“Nothing like this,” Nemo said. “The genius on display demands recognition.”
Nemo’s words were drained as they crossed along the grass path to the main buildings, passing under an archway that was identical to the one over the entrance to Vulcania. Every detail from his old base was recreated, including bullet holes.
“My exact memories,” Nemo said.
Robur said, “A tribute to your struggles.”
“There’s much here to absorb.”
“Captain, you’ll have the time to see it all.”
* * *
On the gun turret, the Lieutenant loaded an automatic pistol, handing it to a City Guard, while watching Nemo and Robur pass below, to the main building. Robur looked up to him as they reached the doors. Keeping his hand on his belt he extended two fingers in a silent victory signal. His fingers, though, pointed downward, meaning something else.
* * *
The Guard didn’t push Sara, and she didn’t fight herself away. It was all silence between them, when a prisoner is marched to their cell. When the door to her room slid open, she was hit with it: her childhood bedroom, duplicated. Toys, pillows, wallpaper roses, and chintz curtains, but around windows that were painted on the walls, with a view that was exactly her old backyard, as a still life.
The door rolled closed, and locked before she could turn around. Sara pressed her hands against the painted sky, as if a window would split open in the wall, then pounded with her fists. It was solid.
Behind her, a desk was stacked with her diary, and perfectly bound copies of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend, and Poe’s Extraordinary Tales. She opened the diary, and saw an entry on the first page: Father and I, reunited.
Sara’s eyes settled on a dollhouse on a table in the corner. She remembered it, from when she was four or five. Not a dollhouse, but an odd, tiny doll city, built by her father, its distinctive shape exactly the same as the structure where she was. She remembered wishing her doll city could float to the ceiling.
“Seen this view before, have you, Sara?”
The voice was hollow, coming from behind the wall. Someplace.
“You owe me at least an explanation, girl.”
Sara followed the sound, tracing it along the wall with her fingers, before an opening appeared before her. Beyond the opening, she saw into an adjoining room. Large, and sun-drenched.
President Grant sat before a huge window that was one entire side of the room, the glass braced with wood and curving at the center, to magnify the view. Bourbon and cigars were at hand, as was th
e library and artwork from the dirigible. Familiar comforts; other paintings and rolled-up rugs rested against the walls, as if the decorating had just begun, and Grant would be there a long time.
He faced Sara. “The last time I was in this chair, I was handcuffed. Your father released me into here, my plush cell where I’m supposed to die. As you well know.”
Sara shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”
“Your father played me for a perfect fool; you played Nemo like Daddy’s old fiddle. An excellent plan, bringing the two of us together, hopefully to destroy each other, leaving your father unchallenged.”
Sara said, “I didn’t know.”
Grant opened a case full of fresh cigars, took one. “It’s called the Joining of Enemies Gambit, and I’ve used it, in our final push against the Confederates.”
Grant poured himself a drink, offered one to Sara, who took it. “I know espionage, as do you. Except I think you forgot whose side you were supposed to be on. Or, you never were. Clarify for me.”
Sara measured her words. “Mr. President, I had no idea about any of this.”
“Of course, of course.” Grant sipped, eyes down.
Sara said, “We’ve been fighting the things sinking the ships.”
“Who fought? Do you mean Nemo?”
“Everyone on the Nautilus, following your orders,” Sara said. “Machines, made to look like sea creatures, but are actually weapons. Those insane reports, they’re all true.” She stopped herself, and the flooding words. “I sound like I’m the one who’s lost their mind.”
Grant said, “I’d say yes, if we weren’t sitting in this insane place together. Nemo, is he for or against your father?”
Sara said, “I don’t know. He’s destroyed these mechanical things, but also led us here. There was a structure, it seemed to be waiting for the Nautilus.”
“Your father’s?”
“After all this, I have to say yes, but Nemo didn’t know. Part of the mystery, and he was going to solve it his way. I tried to stop him from leaving the Nautilus, but he was going to see the mission through, what was happening here. He was determined to give you your information, and be done with it. He said he was to die a free man, no matter what the outcome.”
Nemo Rising Page 27
