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canniballistics · 8 years ago

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Olive Branches

fandom: wolf 359 pairs: none ao3 version here. written for DigitalMeowMix for yuletide 2016! it was an absolute delight to write ;u;

Tired of wrangling her new crewmates into cooperating and sick of expecting a mutiny at any time, Lovelace decides not to follow up when she hears a couple of them planning. Are they actually plotting against her, though? Or is it something else entirely? Plus, bad puns, a makeshift celebration, holy hell, and an offense to life, the universe, and everything.

"Come ooon!"

He was wheedling, but that wasn't any different from normal. In fact, it was actually becoming something of a comfort. A bit of normalcy in the middle of what was absolutely a neverending nightmare cycle of catastrophe and fixing and catastrophe and fixing. As obnoxious as it could be, from time to time, she actually somewhat enjoyed it.

"Can't she hear us right now? I don't know if you've thought this plan all the way through."

She could hear them. They didn't know it, but she could.

"She can't. It'll be fine! Now are you in, or out?"

A sigh. She should have figured. She should have known something like this would happen, knew something like this would happen; and she knew she should stay, to figure out what they were planning, how they were going to undermine her. But for some reason, today, she couldn't. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to find out. She'd had enough of treachery and betrayal and anticipating the worst; today, she would give it a rest.

Lovelace pushed away from the wall, moving herself along the corridors back up to the bridge. She'd noticed Eiffel and Minkowski acting shifty when they thought she wasn't looking; Eiffel had grabbed Minkowski, and Lovelace tailed them as they snuck off to Selberg — Hilbert's old lab, the one that Eiffel had let slip Rhea had no eyes on. Whatever went on in there, she was blind to it. It made a pretty decent war room to plan in, since one of their co-conspirators was incapable of lying to her commanding officer.

...Hera. Her name was Hera now. Not Rhea. Her name was Hera, and she was...something. A personality all her own. In all honesty, she liked Hera a lot better than Rhea. Hera could actually respond to jokes.

"Hera."

"Yes, Captain?"

Lovelace didn't want to wonder just how eager Hera would be to help Eiffel and Minkowski with their mutiny. Best to keep both of their minds off such things, at least for a little while. "What's the saltiest fish in the sea?"

It took a minute for Hera to respond. "Uh... What?"

"It's a joke. A pun, actually." Lovelace didn't look up as she pulled out navigational charts, comparing them with notes on the shuttle's repair progress and projections. "What," she repeated, "is the saltiest fish in the sea?"

"I..." Hera paused. "I know the correct answer, but if it's a pun, I'm afraid you'll have to enlighten me." Was that resignation in her voice? Hatred? Lovelace didn't want to think so, but there was a good chance of it. "What is the saltiest fish in the sea?"

"Tuna."

There was silence on the bridge. At this point, Lovelace was very pointedly not looking up, partially because she almost expected to see a quizzical face staring back at her like she was insane, but mostly because if she did, she might start laughing. It was a stupid pun. A really stupid pun. But it was so bad it was good, and one of her favorites.

Finally, finally, Hera responded. "Excuse me? How is tuna the saltiest fish in the sea? That's a terrible joke, tuna aren't even comparable to—"

"It's a chemistry joke, Hera. Remember, joke? Not literal." Lovelace cleared away the navigational charts, instead pulling up the list of repairs she still needed done. This one was a little less depressing. A little. "Na is the symbol for sodium on the periodic table of elements, right? It's 2Na. Tuna."

Hera didn't say anything, and after a few minutes it began to feel like an eternity. Lovelace stood there, listening to the ambient noises of the station, the quiet hissing of air being filtered in and out of the room, the low groans as the hull creaked. Oh god. She hadn't fried Hera's personality matrix with a bad pun, had she? "Hera?"

"That is the worst pun I've ever heard. And that's including the ones Officer Eiffel has told me."

Finally, Lovelace laughed. "Wow. That bad, huh? I'm honored, Eiffel does seem like a fount of useless phrases."

"Pft." If Hera had a physical body, Lovelace was positive she'd be shaking her head. "Just make sure he never hears that one. I'm pretty sure he stores all the really bad jokes to use on Commander Minkowski when she least expects it."

Almost as if it were divine providence, the doors to the bridge whooshed open, and Eiffel and Minkowski walked in. Both their eyes narrowed once they noticed Lovelace, though at least Eiffel's look was less suspicious.

"Did I just hear something about bad jokes? Did I miss somethin' good?" He strode in past Minkowski and Lovelace, overly casual and way too obvious with it as he relaxed into a nearby chair. "C'mon, don't be stingy. Share with the class, ladies!"

"No. Please be stingy," Minkowski groaned. She looked exhausted. So did Eiffel. Lovelace couldn't help feeling a little guilty for working them both so hard. Then, she remembered hearing them plotting. The guilt evaporated a shade. Minkowski brushed her hair out of her face, attempting to tie it back into a tight ponytail. "If I ever hear another bad joke, it'll be way too soon."

"Are you sure?" Lovelace couldn't help it, smirking just a little at her. It was an olive branch, a tiny one. A shred of camaraderie, despite knowing about their plot. She understood, after all. If she were in their position, she would probably do the same. "I'm told this one is worse than all of his previous works."

"Now you've gotta tell me," Eiffel insisted. "Captain, bad jokes only make me stronger, and if it's as bad as you say then we gotta get my power level to over 9000."

Lovelace frowned. It could only be another of his ridiculous pop culture references, but… what did that even mean? She looked at Minkowski, who only shrugged, shook her head. "Hera?"

"Nnnope."

"One of these days, Eiffel, one of your references is going to make sense to one of us." Lovelace rolled her eyes at him, a short grin. "One of these days."

"Knowing the two of you?" He yawned, stretching as he did. "Probably not ever gonna happen. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying, though. C'mon, did neither of you watch any Dragonball Z when you were kids? No, wait, don't tell me. You were both too busy with your Terminator training to watch cartoons. Figures."

Lovelace couldn't help a small chuckle. "I can neither confirm nor deny those charges." And in the way most contagious things went, she raised a hand to stifle her own yawn. "We worked pretty hard today. Think it might be time to call it a night, huh?"

"Really? You're giving us the night off?" Eiffel pulled out a watch, whistling low. "Captain, it's only 1900 hours. Are you feeling all right? There's still a few more things to do—"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Well, I was trying to be generous, but if you want a few more tasks, that can always be arranged."

Minkowski shot him a glare, and almost immediately, Eiffel jumped back out of his chair. "Nope! Never mind, I'm good, thanks! Night, Captain!"

It didn't escape her that both he and Minkowski left together after a polite, "Good night, Captain Lovelace," from Minkowski. She allowed herself a small smile at seeing how close they were, unable to help wondering if they'd have ever become friends if they weren't on this mission. Knowing Eiffel, probably not. So, one good thing had come from this hellscape they were all trapped in.

That was a comfort to think about, at least.

Lovelace took a deep breath, running a few more scans on the shuttle before shaking her head. She couldn't concentrate. Hera, Minkowski, and Eiffel reminded her too much of her own crew, of Fourier, Hui, Lambert, and Fisher. A slightly smaller crew this time, obviously, but the camaraderie was there, the genuine caring for each other. Of course, there was also the fact that Selberg was still alive, was going by Hilbert now, but as long as they kept him away from her, she would suffer his continued existence.

This time when she called Hera's name, it was quiet, almost none of the joviality from before. "Hera?"

"Yes, Captain?"

Honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted to ask this question. It would bother her, though, if she didn't. If she didn't at least find out. "Obviously, Cutter didn't tell Eiffel and Minkowski about my crew and I before sending them on this mission." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the answer. "Did they tell you?" A pause. "I mean, did they keep information about us? Is there anything in your databanks about us?"

"One moment, please." Hera was silent then, and Lovelace took the opportunity to marvel at how efficient she was, even with all the things Eiffel told her had happened. She was such a contrast to Rhea and the beeps she could only give in response. And when she finally answered, it didn't surprise Lovelace at all. "I'm sorry, Captain Lovelace. There's nothing about you, your crew, or even another Hephaestus station in my memory."

Lovelace sighed. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it wasn't still a bit of a disappointment. Knowing what she did of Command, she wouldn't have been surprised if they'd swept all traces of their existences from the face of the Earth, too. "I didn't think so. Thank you, Hera."

"That's not to say they don't have records somewhere, Captain!"

Lovelace narrowed her eyes, looking up. "Hera?"

She sounded a little cowed, almost embarrassed at the exclamation. "That is, I mean— I'm sure they probably have all the files on you still, somewhere, and just didn't give me access. They had to know what they'd need to improve...upon..." There was an awkward pause. "Sorry, Captain Lovelace. I didn't mean to say it like that."

There was a dark little laugh. "It's all right, Hera. I get it. And you know what, you're probably right." Just one more thing to take back when she finally got back to Canaveral.

"Captain?" That surprised her, and Lovelace cocked her head. "Can I... Why do you ask?"

Ah. She hummed. "I don't remember where I heard it, exactly." Lovelace busied herself with clearing her workspace, everything back in its proper place. "There's a belief out there that when someone dies, it's not really the end. They're still alive, as long as someone remembers them." A deep breath. God, she missed them. Even Lambert, that stick in the mud. "I still remember them. If Command wants to erase us, they're going to have to go through me first." Her fist closed, knuckles pressing into the console in front of her. "And when I get back, I'm taking whatever they have on us. As far as I'm concerned, they don't deserve to even say their names."

Hera didn't say anything while Lovelace finished tidying up. It was all right. She didn't really expect her to, especially not if Hera believed she'd really leave her behind when they left. She made her way down the winding corridors to the quarters she temporarily called her own — the irony that they were Hilbert's didn't escape her. As she changed out of her uniform, started to wind down for the night, Hera finally spoke up again.

"You're a very brave woman, Captain Lovelace. I'm sorry they did this to you."

Lovelace closed her eyes. She wasn't brave. She was angry. She was angry, and she was going to rain holy hell on Cutter and everyone else who'd decided her crew was expendable. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain. Good night."

"Good night, Hera."

She spent the evening reviewing Eiffel and Minkowski's logs, and when she could no longer stand reading about the second Hephaestus mission, turned off the lights and went to sleep.

Lovelace woke with her former crew's voices echoing in the back of her head, Lambert scolding Fisher and Fourier as they laughed; it was a strange sensation, at once unsettling and yet comforting. She hadn't thought about them very often since boarding the new Hephaestus. Sure, she'd thought about them, about how what had been done to them was unforgivable and wrong, but not the people themselves. It was...nice to dream about the people, rather than reliving the nightmare of losing everyone one by one.

When she got to the bridge, she was surprised to find it empty. She'd given up on Eiffel waking before 1000 hours, but Minkowski was always either awake before her, or just on her heels to it. To find her not in the bridge, even after Lovelace had allowed herself an extra fifteen minutes to fully wake, came as a bit of a shock.

"Morning, Hera."

"Good morning, Captain. Or, whatever passes for morning here. You know how Wolf 359 never..sets, or anything."

Lovelace laughed. "Yeah, I'm familiar. Thanks for maintaining such a steady clock for us to judge by, by the way."

"Oh, it's nothing," Hera deflected, but there was a note of pride in her voice. "Thank you for noticing! You humans don't seem to understand just how important it is to maintain a normal routine every day. Flesh bodies are so unreliable."

A pause. "Uh huh. I'm not sure I want to know," Lovelace grinned.

"That's probably for the best."

Lovelace shook her head, but couldn't wipe the smile from her face. God, she'd missed this. "Hey, speaking of routine, can you tell me where Lieutenant Minkowski is? She's normally here before even me, it's almost weird not to see her."

"One second, please."

Lovelace stretched as she waited. How convenient would it be to be a near omni-prescient AI? Hera could scan the entire station within seconds. Maybe she was onto something about flesh bodies being inconvenient.

"Ugh!"

Lovelace frowned. That was new. "Hera? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Hera grumbled. "She and Eiffel keep going into that room. The one I can't see. He told you about it. If you're looking for Commander Minkowski, you'll find her there." Lovelace could almost imagine her crossing her arms over her chest and pouting as she continued, "I hate it when I can't see what's going on in my own station!"

That sobered Lovelace's mood a little. She'd nearly forgotten about the duo plotting yesterday. She took a deep breath, pushing away from the console she'd been holding onto. "Thanks, Hera. How about this: I'll go find out what they're doing, since you helped me find them. We'll figure out what they're doing."

"Are you sure, Captain? It might just be nothing."

"Oh, I'm sure." They'd wanted to make sure they were secretive enough yesterday. Time to figure out what their plan was, and put a stop to it.

The first sign that something was up was the marker floating in the middle of the hallway toward Hilbert's old lab. Lovelace stared at it for a few seconds before plucking it out of midair. What the hell? She paused on the threshold, trying to listen around the corner to see if she could hear anything; when all she got was hushed whispers, she closed her eyes. Sighed. So it would come to this, huh? She took a deep breath and swung around the corner—

—and just narrowly avoided crashing directly into Eiffel.

"Whoa! Captain Lovelace, careful! Are you okay?"

"I, uh— Yeah. Yes. I'm fine," she stammered. She hadn't expected to literally run into one of them. And now that she was actually in the room with them, it...didn't look like some kind of dastardly mutiny plan at all. In fact, it looked like... "What are you two doing?" She asked, nearly as confused as she'd been on seeing the Hephaestus again.

"Did we not tell you?" Eiffel looked over his shoulder at Minkowski, who had her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she worked. "Sorry, Captain, it was kind of rushed— C'mon in!" And as he ushered her into the room, he stuck his head back into the hallway, calling out, "Sorry, Hera! Borrowing the Captain for a little while!"

There was an unintelligible protest before the door slid shut behind them, and as Eiffel explained what they were doing, Lovelace couldn't help but laugh. She'd been stressing over this? She shook her head, unsure whether she'd underestimated this crew, or if she'd overestimated them. But—

"All right, I'm in," she said. "Where do I start?"

Eiffel grinned, handing her a handful of materials. "Get to work, Captain."

A few hours passed before any of them left the lab after that. Hilbert joined them once or twice to give updates on the project he'd been working on for them, giving her a wide berth as he reported to Eiffel. Lovelace noted silently that, interestingly enough, even though both of them technically outranked him, they were deferring to him for this. No doubt it was his plan, the thing he'd been trying to persuade Minkowski about yesterday. The fact he was awake so early was impressive enough by itself; that Minkowski and Hilbert were both following his directions was just ridiculous. It was endearing, though, and Lovelace found herself taking to the work.

When they were finally ready, they gathered together to concoct the final stage of the plan, and once the details were ironed out, they nodded conspiratorially, and readied to fulfill their parts.

Minkowski was first out of the room. "Hera, will you help me out? I want to see if we can patch you into that room, so that you don't have any blind spots anymore."

"Finally," Hera exclaimed. "We might be able to go in through the power conduits in engineering..."

Her voice trailed off, following Minkowski as she moved towards the engineering section. As soon as they were out of sight, Eiffel and Lovelace shot into the hall, making their way towards the comms room as quickly as they could. There was no doubt Hera could still see them, but it helped to have her attention split elsewhere. The two of them scrambled to and fro across the comms room, sticking signs and cut-out shapes all over the walls and non-vital equipment. Wherever they could, and by the time Minkowski returned, Hilbert had joined them with his contribution. He was also, quite noticeably, the only one who didn't chime in when they shouted.

"Uh, guys?" Hera sounded troubled as she spoke. "What did you do?"

Eiffel was the loudest as he and Minkowski, and to a lesser, quieter extent, Lovelace, all shouted out, "Happy birthday, Hera!"

"My... But I don't have a birthday. Comes with being artificial, y'know?"

"Pshaw." Eiffel grinned. "You're just as much a member of the crew as any of us, and your program was booted up for the first time sometime, right? Since none of us know, and we haven't celebrated it yet, we've got at least some chance of it being today!"

"So you... You did this all for me?" The room was covered in stars, and flowers, and makeshift banners, and hastily scribbled (and possibly badly translated) binary code, all with some permutation of happy birthday and you're the best and other ridiculous sentiments written across them. It was completely absurd, but... "You guys!" Hera seemed to love it. So, it was worth it.

Minkowski elbowed Eiffel as Hera exclaimed about the decorations, and Lovelace was just barely able to make out a quiet, "This was a good plan," as she did. It seemed to spur Eiffel into motion, who jumped.

"Wait!" He turned to Hilbert, who'd been loitering at the edge of the room — there was a tray in his hands, with four oddly-shaped lumps on it. If Lovelace squinted, they almost looked like… "I almost forgot the piece de resistance!" Eiffel took the tray, proudly displaying the lumps. "Now, obviously we don't have any real ingredients, and if we did I doubt Dr. Caligari here would be the guy to turn to. But I got him to whip up some—"

"The closest approximation," Hilbert interrupted, shifting uncomfortably.

"Fine, the closest he could get, to cupcakes!" Eiffel eyed the things on the tray, frowning. "Wow, Doc, you really...didn't put in any effort into these at all, did you?"

"Is rather difficult to synthesize the taste and texture of doughy substances when you have neither flour nor baking soda." Hilbert frowned, muttering, "I did the best I could with what I have, in a very short time frame."

Eiffel eyed him for a moment. "Sure you did. Anyway, I figured that, since you don't have a mouth, Hera, you'd get to celebrate by watching us eat these and try not to die horribly! And I know what you're thinking," he said, reaching out to grab Hilbert's arm and keep him from floating away. "This guy's tried to kill all of us at least once; how do we know he didn't poison these? Fair question. If you'll notice, there are four; Hilbert is going to eat one first, to prove they're safe!"

There was silence for a moment. Then, "You know what? I'm okay with this." And if Lovelace didn't know any better, she could definitely believe that Hera was grinning as she said it.

Hilbert shot Eiffel a dark look before reaching for one of the lumps; before his fingers could close around it, however, Eiffel snatched it out of his grasp and instead tossed it to Minkowski. There was a distinct harrumph as Hilbert grabbed a different one, staring at it sullenly. Eiffel offered the tray to Lovelace, who took one for herself, and then he let it float away as he claimed the last.

"You don't make cake with baking soda, by the way." Eiffel was smug as he said it. "It's baking powder. Now eat up, Doc."

"I want the both of you to remember that this was Eiffel's idea," Hilbert groused, before taking a bite of his "cupcake". His jaw worked up and down for a minute, a conspicuously chewy noise heard throughout the room, before he swallowed it, visibly straining to do so. And then he glared. "Your turns."

The "cupcake" was grotesque: it had about the same consistency as taffy mixed with oat, with a distinctly seaweed taste; within minutes all four of them were gagging and shoving the creation as far away as possible. "Ugh, that is just— That's just offensive," Minkowski moaned.

"I know, right?" Eiffel agreed, scraping at his tongue. "I can't get it to go away!"

Lovelace couldn't stop the shudder sliding up and down her spine; the taste was just so pervasive, and so disgusting. "That," she gagged, "was an offense to life, the universe, and everything in it."

"I dunno, I thought it was pretty great!"

There was an aggrieved chorus of "Hera!" from the humans. Once they got their tastebuds under control, Hilbert gathered the remains of the "cupcakes" and the tray, muttering something about disposing of these abominations; not long after, Eiffel began singing "Happy Birthday", and even managed to get Minkowski to join in.

Lovelace grinned as she watched them, and was struck with a sudden flash of her own crew, celebrating for Dr. Hui. It made her homesick, a little bit. They were great people, and she knew she would always regret that she couldn't protect them. More and more, however, she was finding that a fondness (however begrudging) was starting to form for this new crew. Maybe in time they would welcome her into their fold; who knew, maybe in letting her in on Hera's birthday, they already were. Watching them now, though, they weren't so different from her old one, and it was a comfort she was beginning to want to protect.

#wolf 359 #renee minkowski #isabel lovelace #doug eiffel #hera #alexander hilbert #kieran writes

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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The Underwater Coalfields

THE NEXT DAY, February 20, I overslept. I was so exhausted from the night before, I didn't get up until eleven o'clock. I dressed quickly. I hurried to find out the Nautilus's heading. The instruments indicated that it was running southward at a speed of twenty miles per hour and a depth of 100 meters. Conseil entered. I described our nocturnal excursion to him, and since the panels were open, he could still catch a glimpse of this submerged continent. In fact, the Nautilus was skimming only ten meters over the soil of these Atlantis plains. The ship scudded along like an air balloon borne by the wind over some prairie on land; but it would be more accurate to say that we sat in the lounge as if we were riding in a coach on an express train. As for the foregrounds passing before our eyes, they were fantastically carved rocks, forests of trees that had crossed over from the vegetable kingdom into the mineral kingdom, their motionless silhouettes sprawling beneath the waves. There also were stony masses buried beneath carpets of axidia and sea anemone, bristling with long, vertical water plants, then strangely contoured blocks of lava that testified to all the fury of those plutonic developments. While this bizarre scenery was glittering under our electric beams, I told Conseil the story of the Atlanteans, who had inspired the old French scientist Jean Bailly to write so many entertaining-albeit utterly fictitious - pages.* I told the lad about the wars of these heroic people. I discussed the question of Atlantis with the fervor of a man who no longer had any doubts. But Conseil was so distracted he barely heard me, and his lack of interest in any commentary on this historical topic was soon explained. *Bailly believed that Atlantis was located at the North Pole! Ed. In essence, numerous fish had caught his eye, and when fish pass by, Conseil vanishes into his world of classifying and leaves real life behind. In which case I could only tag along and resume our ichthyological research. Even so, these Atlantic fish were not noticeably different from those we had observed earlier. There were rays of gigantic size, five meters long and with muscles so powerful they could leap above the waves, sharks of various species including a fifteen-foot glaucous shark with sharp triangular teeth and so transparent it was almost invisible amid the waters, brown lantern sharks, prism-shaped humantin sharks armored with protuberant hides, sturgeons resembling their relatives in the Mediterranean, trumpet-snouted pipefish a foot and a half long, yellowish brown with small gray fins and no teeth or tongue, unreeling like slim, supple snakes. Among bony fish, Conseil noticed some blackish marlin three meters long with a sharp sword jutting from the upper jaw, bright-colored weevers known in Aristotle's day as sea dragons and whose dorsal stingers make them quite dangerous to pick up, then dolphinfish with brown backs striped in blue and edged in gold, handsome dorados, moonlike opahs that look like azure disks but which the sun's rays turn into spots of silver, finally eight-meter swordfish from the genus Xiphias, swimming in schools, sporting yellowish sickle-shaped fins and six-foot broadswords, stalwart animals, plant eaters rather than fish eaters, obeying the tiniest signals from their females like henpecked husbands. But while observing these different specimens of marine fauna, I didn't stop examining the long plains of Atlantis. Sometimes an unpredictable irregularity in the seafloor would force the Nautilus to slow down, and then it would glide into the narrow channels between the hills with a cetacean's dexterity. If the labyrinth became hopelessly tangled, the submersible would rise above it like an airship, and after clearing the obstacle, it would resume its speedy course just a few meters above the ocean floor. It was an enjoyable and impressive way of navigating that did indeed recall the maneuvers of an airship ride, with the major difference that the Nautilus faithfully obeyed the hands of its helmsman. The terrain consisted mostly of thick slime mixed with petrified branches, but it changed little by little near four o'clock in the afternoon; it grew rockier and seemed to be strewn with pudding stones and a basaltic gravel called "tuff," together with bits of lava and sulfurous obsidian. I expected these long plains to change into mountain regions, and in fact, as the Nautilus was executing certain turns, I noticed that the southerly horizon was blocked by a high wall that seemed to close off every exit. Its summit obviously poked above the level of the ocean. It had to be a continent or at least an island, either one of the Canaries or one of the Cape Verde Islands. Our bearings hadn't been marked on the chart-perhaps deliberately - and I had no idea what our position was. In any case this wall seemed to signal the end of Atlantis, of which, all in all, we had crossed only a small part. Nightfall didn't interrupt my observations. I was left to myself. Conseil had repaired to his cabin. The Nautilus slowed down, hovering above the muddled masses on the seafloor, sometimes grazing them as if wanting to come to rest, sometimes rising unpredictably to the surface of the waves. Then I glimpsed a few bright constellations through the crystal waters, specifically five or six of those zodiacal stars trailing from the tail end of Orion. I would have stayed longer at my window, marveling at these beauties of sea and sky, but the panels closed. Just then the Nautilus had arrived at the perpendicular face of that high wall. How the ship would maneuver I hadn't a guess. I repaired to my stateroom. The Nautilus did not stir. I fell asleep with the firm intention of waking up in just a few hours. But it was eight o'clock the next day when I returned to the lounge. I stared at the pressure gauge. It told me that the Nautilus was afloat on the surface of the ocean. Furthermore, I heard the sound of footsteps on the platform. Yet there were no rolling movements to indicate the presence of waves undulating above me. I climbed as far as the hatch. It was open. But instead of the broad daylight I was expecting, I found that I was surrounded by total darkness. Where were we? Had I been mistaken? Was it still night? No! Not one star was twinkling, and nighttime is never so utterly black. I wasn't sure what to think, when a voice said to me: "Is that you, professor?" "Ah, Captain Nemo!" I replied. "Where are we?" "Underground, professor." "Underground!" I exclaimed. "And the Nautilus is still floating?" "It always floats." "But I don't understand!" "Wait a little while. Our beacon is about to go on, and if you want some light on the subject, you'll be satisfied." I set foot on the platform and waited. The darkness was so profound I couldn't see even Captain Nemo. However, looking at the zenith directly overhead, I thought I caught sight of a feeble glimmer, a sort of twilight filtering through a circular hole. Just then the beacon suddenly went on, and its intense brightness made that hazy light vanish. This stream of electricity dazzled my eyes, and after momentarily shutting them, I looked around. The Nautilus was stationary. It was floating next to an embankment shaped like a wharf. As for the water now buoying the ship, it was a lake completely encircled by an inner wall about two miles in diameter, hence six miles around. Its level - as indicated by the pressure gauge - would be the same as the outside level, because some connection had to exist between this lake and the sea. Slanting inward over their base, these high walls converged to form a vault shaped like an immense upside-down funnel that measured 500 or 600 meters in height. At its summit there gaped the circular opening through which I had detected that faint glimmer, obviously daylight. Before more carefully examining the interior features of this enormous cavern, and before deciding if it was the work of nature or humankind, I went over to Captain Nemo. "Where are we?" I said. "In the very heart of an extinct volcano," the captain answered me, "a volcano whose interior was invaded by the sea after some convulsion in the earth. While you were sleeping, professor, the Nautilus entered this lagoon through a natural channel that opens ten meters below the surface of the ocean. This is our home port, secure, convenient, secret, and sheltered against winds from any direction! Along the coasts of your continents or islands, show me any offshore mooring that can equal this safe refuge for withstanding the fury of hurricanes." "Indeed," I replied, "here you're in perfect safety, Captain Nemo. Who could reach you in the heart of a volcano? But don't I see an opening at its summit?" "Yes, its crater, a crater formerly filled with lava, steam, and flames, but which now lets in this life-giving air we're breathing." "But which volcanic mountain is this?" I asked. "It's one of the many islets with which this sea is strewn. For ships a mere reef, for us an immense cavern. I discovered it by chance, and chance served me well." "But couldn't someone enter through the mouth of its crater?" "No more than I could exit through it. You can climb about 100 feet up the inner base of this mountain, but then the walls overhang, they lean too far in to be scaled." "I can see, captain, that nature is your obedient servant, any time or any place. You're safe on this lake, and nobody else can visit its waters. But what's the purpose of this refuge? The Nautilus doesn't need a harbor." "No, professor, but it needs electricity to run, batteries to generate its electricity, sodium to feed its batteries, coal to make its sodium, and coalfields from which to dig its coal. Now then, right at this spot the sea covers entire forests that sank underwater in prehistoric times; today, turned to stone, transformed into carbon fuel, they offer me inexhaustible coal mines." "So, captain, your men practice the trade of miners here?" "Precisely. These mines extend under the waves like the coalfields at Newcastle. Here, dressed in diving suits, pick and mattock in hand, my men go out and dig this carbon fuel for which I don't need a single mine on land. When I burn this combustible to produce sodium, the smoke escaping from the mountain's crater gives it the appearance of a still-active volcano." "And will we see your companions at work?" "No, at least not this time, because I'm eager to continue our underwater tour of the world. Accordingly, I'll rest content with drawing on my reserve stock of sodium. We'll stay here long enough to load it on board, in other words, a single workday, then we'll resume our voyage. So, Professor Aronnax, if you'd like to explore this cavern and circle its lagoon, seize the day." I thanked the captain and went to look for my two companions, who hadn't yet left their cabin. I invited them to follow me, not telling them where we were. They climbed onto the platform. Conseil, whom nothing could startle, saw it as a perfectly natural thing to fall asleep under the waves and wake up under a mountain. But Ned Land had no idea in his head other than to see if this cavern offered some way out. After breakfast near ten o'clock, we went down onto the embankment. "So here we are, back on shore," Conseil said. "I'd hardly call this shore," the Canadian replied. "And besides, we aren't on it but under it." A sandy beach unfolded before us, measuring 500 feet at its widest point between the waters of the lake and the foot of the mountain's walls. Via this strand you could easily circle the lake. But the base of these high walls consisted of broken soil over which there lay picturesque piles of volcanic blocks and enormous pumice stones. All these crumbling masses were covered with an enamel polished by the action of underground fires, and they glistened under the stream of electric light from our beacon. Stirred up by our footsteps, the mica-rich dust on this beach flew into the air like a cloud of sparks. The ground rose appreciably as it moved away from the sand flats by the waves, and we soon arrived at some long, winding gradients, genuinely steep paths that allowed us to climb little by little; but we had to tread cautiously in the midst of pudding stones that weren't cemented together, and our feet kept skidding on glassy trachyte, made of feldspar and quartz crystals. The volcanic nature of this enormous pit was apparent all around us. I ventured to comment on it to my companions. "Can you picture," I asked them, "what this funnel must have been like when it was filled with boiling lava, and the level of that incandescent liquid rose right to the mountain's mouth, like cast iron up the insides of a furnace?" "I can picture it perfectly," Conseil replied. "But will master tell me why this huge smelter suspended operations, and how it is that an oven was replaced by the tranquil waters of a lake?" "In all likelihood, Conseil, because some convulsion created an opening below the surface of the ocean, the opening that serves as a passageway for the Nautilus. Then the waters of the Atlantic rushed inside the mountain. There ensued a dreadful struggle between the elements of fire and water, a struggle ending in King Neptune's favor. But many centuries have passed since then, and this submerged volcano has changed into a peaceful cavern." "That's fine," Ned Land answered. "I accept the explanation, but in our personal interests, I'm sorry this opening the professor mentions wasn't made above sea level." "But Ned my friend," Conseil answered, "if it weren't an underwater passageway, the Nautilus couldn't enter it!" "And I might add, Mr. Land," I said, "that the waters wouldn't have rushed under the mountain, and the volcano would still be a volcano. So you have nothing to be sorry about." Our climb continued. The gradients got steeper and narrower. Sometimes they were cut across by deep pits that had to be cleared. Masses of overhanging rock had to be gotten around. You slid on your knees, you crept on your belly. But helped by the Canadian's strength and Conseil's dexterity, we overcame every obstacle. At an elevation of about thirty meters, the nature of the terrain changed without becoming any easier. Pudding stones and trachyte gave way to black basaltic rock: here, lying in slabs all swollen with blisters; there, shaped like actual prisms and arranged into a series of columns that supported the springings of this immense vault, a wonderful sample of natural architecture. Then, among this basaltic rock, there snaked long, hardened lava flows inlaid with veins of bituminous coal and in places covered by wide carpets of sulfur. The sunshine coming through the crater had grown stronger, shedding a hazy light over all the volcanic waste forever buried in the heart of this extinct mountain. But when we had ascended to an elevation of about 250 feet, we were stopped by insurmountable obstacles. The converging inside walls changed into overhangs, and our climb into a circular stroll. At this topmost level the vegetable kingdom began to challenge the mineral kingdom. Shrubs, and even a few trees, emerged from crevices in the walls. I recognized some spurges that let their caustic, purgative sap trickle out. There were heliotropes, very remiss at living up to their sun-worshipping reputations since no sunlight ever reached them; their clusters of flowers drooped sadly, their colors and scents were faded. Here and there chrysanthemums sprouted timidly at the feet of aloes with long, sad, sickly leaves. But between these lava flows I spotted little violets that still gave off a subtle fragrance, and I confess that I inhaled it with delight. The soul of a flower is its scent, and those splendid water plants, flowers of the sea, have no souls! We had arrived at the foot of a sturdy clump of dragon trees, which were splitting the rocks with exertions of their muscular roots, when Ned Land exclaimed: "Oh, sir, a hive!" "A hive?" I answered, with a gesture of utter disbelief. "Yes, a hive," the Canadian repeated, "with bees buzzing around!" I went closer and was forced to recognize the obvious. At the mouth of a hole cut in the trunk of a dragon tree, there swarmed thousands of these ingenious insects so common to all the Canary Islands, where their output is especially prized. Naturally enough, the Canadian wanted to lay in a supply of honey, and it would have been ill-mannered of me to say no. He mixed sulfur with some dry leaves, set them on fire with a spark from his tinderbox, and proceeded to smoke the bees out. Little by little the buzzing died down and the disemboweled hive yielded several pounds of sweet honey. Ned Land stuffed his haversack with it. "When I've mixed this honey with our breadfruit batter," he told us, "I'll be ready to serve you a delectable piece of cake." "But of course," Conseil put in, "it will be gingerbread!" "I'm all for gingerbread," I said, "but let's resume this fascinating stroll." At certain turns in the trail we were going along, the lake appeared in its full expanse. The ship's beacon lit up that whole placid surface, which experienced neither ripples nor undulations. The Nautilus lay perfectly still. On its platform and on the embankment, crewmen were bustling around, black shadows that stood out clearly in the midst of the luminous air. Just then we went around the highest ridge of these rocky foothills that supported the vault. Then I saw that bees weren't the animal kingdom's only representatives inside this volcano. Here and in the shadows, birds of prey soared and whirled, flying away from nests perched on tips of rock. There were sparrow hawks with white bellies, and screeching kestrels. With all the speed their stiltlike legs could muster, fine fat bustards scampered over the slopes. I'll let the reader decide whether the Canadian's appetite was aroused by the sight of this tasty game, and whether he regretted having no rifle in his hands. He tried to make stones do the work of bullets, and after several fruitless attempts, he managed to wound one of these magnificent bustards. To say he risked his life twenty times in order to capture this bird is simply the unadulterated truth; but he fared so well, the animal went into his sack to join the honeycombs. By then we were forced to go back down to the beach because the ridge had become impossible. Above us, the yawning crater looked like the wide mouth of a well. From where we stood, the sky was pretty easy to see, and I watched clouds race by, disheveled by the west wind, letting tatters of mist trail over the mountain's summit. Proof positive that those clouds kept at a moderate altitude, because this volcano didn't rise more than 1,800 feet above the level of the ocean. Half an hour after the Canadian's latest exploits, we were back on the inner beach. There the local flora was represented by a wide carpet of samphire, a small umbelliferous plant that keeps quite nicely, which also boasts the names glasswort, saxifrage, and sea fennel. Conseil picked a couple bunches. As for the local fauna, it included thousands of crustaceans of every type: lobsters, hermit crabs, prawns, mysid shrimps, daddy longlegs, rock crabs, and a prodigious number of seashells, such as cowries, murex snails, and limpets. In this locality there gaped the mouth of a magnificent cave. My companions and I took great pleasure in stretching out on its fine-grained sand. Fire had polished the sparkling enamel of its inner walls, sprinkled all over with mica-rich dust. Ned Land tapped these walls and tried to probe their thickness. I couldn't help smiling. Our conversation then turned to his everlasting escape plans, and without going too far, I felt I could offer him this hope: Captain Nemo had gone down south only to replenish his sodium supplies. So I hoped he would now hug the coasts of Europe and America, which would allow the Canadian to try again with a greater chance of success. We were stretched out in this delightful cave for an hour. Our conversation, lively at the outset, then languished. A definite drowsiness overcame us. Since I saw no good reason to resist the call of sleep, I fell into a heavy doze. I dreamed - one doesn't choose his dreams - that my life had been reduced to the vegetating existence of a simple mollusk. It seemed to me that this cave made up my double-valved shell. . . . Suddenly Conseil's voice startled me awake. "Get up! Get up!" shouted the fine lad. "What is it?" I asked, in a sitting position. "The water's coming up to us!" I got back on my feet. Like a torrent the sea was rushing into our retreat, and since we definitely were not mollusks, we had to clear out. In a few seconds we were safe on top of the cave. "What happened?" Conseil asked. "Some new phenomenon?" "Not quite, my friends!" I replied. "It was the tide, merely the tide, which wellnigh caught us by surprise just as it did Sir Walter Scott's hero! The ocean outside is rising, and by a perfectly natural law of balance, the level of this lake is also rising. We've gotten off with a mild dunking. Let's go change clothes on the Nautilus." Three-quarters of an hour later, we had completed our circular stroll and were back on board. Just then the crewmen finished loading the sodium supplies, and the Nautilus could have departed immediately. But Captain Nemo gave no orders. Would he wait for nightfall and exit through his underwater passageway in secrecy? Perhaps. Be that as it may, by the next day the Nautilus had left its home port and was navigating well out from any shore, a few meters beneath the waves of the Atlantic.

#20000Leagues

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