Daughter of the Deep(46)

Ophelia’s gaze stays on me. ‘You understand that the alt-tech devices you have seen so far – the Leyden guns, the dynamic camouflage – are only pale imitations of Nemo’s technology. Over the last century and a half, both HP and Land Institute have tried to re-create what Nemo did. We’ve had a few other successes: the microwave, fibre-optics, lasers, nuclear fission.’

‘The microwave?’ Nelinha looks stunned. I can’t imagine her surviving without the microwave oven in our rec room at HP. She does love her popcorn.

Ophelia musters a faint smile. ‘Yes. One of Nemo’s less dangerous inventions. By the late 1940s, we felt it was safe to leak that technology to the general public.’

‘Hold on,’ Gem says. ‘Nuclear fission? You’re telling us Captain Nemo had atomic bombs?’

Ophelia smirks. ‘Of course not. He would never have created such crass, clumsy weapons. But he did pioneer nuclear physics. During World War II, Land Institute decided they could “improve” the world by leaking some of Nemo’s knowledge to help along the Manhattan Project. They still maintain they did a good thing, even though the subsequent Cold War arms race came close to destroying the world half a dozen times.’

‘Okay …’ Gem says slowly. ‘But that tech also led to nuclear power, cancer treatments and long-range space exploration, right? Tech can be good and bad.’

Luca puts his hand over Ophelia’s wrist, as if he’s afraid she might jump over the table and strangle Gem.

‘My boy,’ Luca says, ‘every time an alt-tech advance is leaked to the rest of the world, it is incredibly destabilizing. Nuclear fission is just one example. Can you imagine if we told the world that Nemo knew the secret to cold fusion?’

Nelinha takes a sharp breath.

I’m not as much of a hard-science expert, but even I understand how big a deal that would be. Fission breaks apart heavy atoms to make energy, but it also creates a bunch of nasty radioactive waste. Fusion is the opposite. It combines atoms. It’s the force that powers the sun. If humans could learn to harness that process at room temperature, ‘cold’ fusion, they could make unlimited energy and produce nothing but harmless gases for exhaust.

‘Why would you not share that information?’ I ask. ‘It would revolutionize the world.’

‘Or destroy the world,’ Ophelia counters. ‘Imagine a world government monopolizing that power. Even worse, a corporation.’

That sends a shiver down my back. ‘You’re saying the secret to cold fusion is here on this base.’

‘That secret,’ Luca agrees, ‘and many others. But we cannot unlock them or study them, much less reproduce them, because Nemo keyed his masterpiece to his own family’s blood – your blood.’

The ball of anger in my chest begins to cool and shrink, creating its own little cold-fusion reaction. ‘Nemo’s masterpiece …’ I say. ‘You don’t mean the base. You mean the Nautilus.’

Luca and Ophelia remain silent.

I shake my head in disbelief. ‘But it’s a wreck.’

I think about photos I’ve seen from the resting place of the Titanic: a broken metal shell covered with rusticles, slowly crumbling to dust. And that ship went down something like fifty years after the Nautilus. ‘There can’t be much left. It was sitting on the bottom of the ocean for a century and a half.’

‘No, my dear.’ Luca sounds melancholy, like this news is even worse than the destruction of Harding-Pencroft. ‘Your parents found the Nautilus intact. Tomorrow, we will introduce you.’





How to make twenty freshmen hyperactive:

Give them access to an espresso machine.

Offer them a safe haven after seventy-two hours of running from death.

Feed them a home-cooked meal made by an orangutan.

Tell them that tomorrow, they will get to see a make-believe submarine from the 1800s that is actually not make-believe.



Luca insists that we will not talk any further about the Nautilus until the morning. Even though I am burning with questions, I suppose that’s just as well. My head already feels like it is going to explode from too much impossibility.

How could a submarine survive intact underwater for over 150 years? And what does Luca mean by intact? The shell is recognizable? The inside wasn’t completely flooded? Most of all, what does he mean about ‘introducing’ me to the sub? He makes it sound almost like … No, I’m not going to follow that line of thinking. It’s crazy.

During dinner, only ten of us can fit around the dining table. The rest of the crew spreads out through the main room. They sit wherever they can, though nobody is brave enough to try Jupiter’s tyre swing.

The volume of conversation increases. I hear occasional laughter. My classmates joke with one another, looking as relaxed and happy as I’ve seen them since before our world was destroyed. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe I’m back in the Harding-Pencroft cafeteria on an average school night.

My melancholy starts spiralling out of control, until Jupiter places a steaming plate of lasagne in front of me. He’s added a beautiful mixed salad on the side, along with two slightly burnt pieces of garlic bread.

He points at Luca. The bread was his fault.

Thank you, I sign.

Jupiter picks up my napkin and puts it in my lap. Because, like most higher primates, he knows more about dining etiquette than I do.