‘Did he ever tell you that?’ she asks. ‘I mean, before he broadcast it from the Aronnax?’
I shake my head. ‘He always tried to stay positive for me. He was the perfect big brother. I guess I never thought about what might be going on behind that smile …’
It’s disturbing to think how little I knew about Dev. It’s even more disturbing to realize that he was holding together his positive facade for my sake, while inside he was stewing in bitterness.
I never saw it. Or at least I never let myself see it. Land Institute obviously did. They used it to turn him against HP, and me.
‘Captain Nemo had a lot of anger, too.’ Ester speaks in a monotone, as if recalling a dream from years ago. ‘When Ned Land and Professor Aronnax met him, he terrified them. The British had killed Nemo’s wife and oldest child. He hated the European powers. He wanted to dismantle their empires. He destroyed their ships, funded rebellions. If Nemo was around today, the world governments would probably call him –’
‘A terrorist.’ I remember Caleb South’s accusation about Harding-Pencroft: You were protecting the legacy of an outlaw.
Ester nods. ‘Land Institute has always been motivated by fear and anger. They want to destroy Nemo’s legacy. But they also want to be Nemo.’
I study the book’s illustration. It’s hard to reconcile the idea of Nemo the terrorist with Nemo the brilliant inventor. Then again, our labels always depend on who’s doing the labelling. Patriot, freedom fighter, terrorist, thug. Prince Dakkar was a brown man fighting the colonizers. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t have helped his reputation in Europe.
‘Wait …’ I refocus on Ester. ‘Are you saying I shouldn’t judge Dev too harshly? Or …？’
Ester picks up a new index card. She frowns at it, as if the lines aren’t quite parallel. ‘I’m just saying that people are complicated. Nemo was a different man by the time Harding and Pencroft met him: older, bitter, disillusioned. That’s why he wanted his technology hidden away and guarded. HP was motivated by Nemo’s caution – paranoia, even. So you’ve got two completely different schools, Land Institute and Harding-Pencroft, inspired by different sides of the same person.’
My head throbs. The alt-tech aspirin seems to be stitching my skull back together in the most painful way possible. ‘Those are my two choices of which Nemo I want to be? The angry one or the paranoid one?’
‘No.’ Ester jots something down – hopefully not therapy notes. ‘Maybe Dev fell into that trap. He thought he had to choose. Maybe you don’t have to. You both have some Dakkar personality traits, sure. But you can decide to be a different kind of Captain Nemo.’
I stare at Ester, amazed by how obvious she makes it all sound.
‘I just want to do the right thing,’ I say.
‘So does Dev, I bet,’ Ester says. ‘The difference is, you have the sub. You have Nemo’s resources. You could build an entirely new Harding-Pencroft, if you wanted to. I’d like to help.’
‘Nemo’s resources?’ I get the feeling she’s not just talking about his cold-fusion engine, or his cav-drive, or his copious reservoir of seaweed slime.
Ester checks her watch. ‘Hasn’t been an hour yet, but I guess you’ve rested long enough. Come on. There’s one more door I want you to unlock.’
Every time I think the Nautilus can’t surprise me any more, I find out I’m wrong.
On the sub’s lowest level, in the back of the main storeroom, crates have been moved aside to reveal a large metal vault door like the one that leads to the subterranean lake in Lincoln Base.
‘Rhys and Linzi found it while doing inventory,’ Ester says. ‘I think I know what’s inside, but there’s only one way to be sure.’
In other words, she needs the magic Nemo hands.
I study the lock. I trust Ester’s instincts, but still … I’m hesitant about opening a door someone took the trouble to hide. If Nemo had any skeletons in his closet （literal or otherwise）， this seems like the kind of closet he’d keep them in.
‘Nautilus,’ I say in Bundeli, ‘would it be okay if I opened this door?’
All by itself, the lock spins. Bolts click and release. I guess that’s a yes.
I pull the door open. Inside …
Oh.
Normally, I’m not a material girl. Stuff doesn’t impress me.
But for a moment I forget how to breathe. I relive one of my earliest memories, when Dev, who must’ve been pretty much a baby himself, blew in my nostrils, his stronger lungs overwhelming my own, leaving me gasping in shock.