Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (53 page)

The captives mumbled to each other, but Nemo stepped forward and squinted along the angle of the barrel.
 
“It’s an artillery piece that lets you fire cannon balls across the Mediterranean?”
 
In his mind, he calculated the range of such a cannon, but had trouble believing his own answer.
 
Robur must be as mad as he was ambitious.

The Caliph brushed the comment aside.
 
“Your assumption is false, Engineer.
 
Not every creation is driven by war -- as you will see, once I rule the world.
 
An enlightened leader can foster many wonders for the human race.”

He gestured toward the gigantic
Columbiad
.
 
“No, this cannon is not a weapon of war, but a device for scientific pursuits.”
 
He smiled again.
 
“With it, I will fire not an explosive artillery shell. . . .
 
I intend to launch men to the Moon.”

“I’d not want to ride in such a ship,” Cyrus Harding observed.
 
Nemo refrained from comment, his brow furrowed as he considered the parabolic trajectory.
 
Offhand, he did not know the velocity required for such a shot to escape the Earth’s gravity and reach outer space.

“Everything is prepared,” Robur said, “and today we test the
Columbiad
.
 
That is what you must see.”
 
He swiveled to take in the group of captives.
 
His flushed face held a passion that infused his words with a plea for understanding.
 
“You, my technical experts, must understand what I can accomplish, what
you
can be a part of . . . even if the Sultan himself does not yet grasp the concept.”

Busy people moved in the outbuildings around the facility, making preparations for the exhibition.
 
Nemo felt a sudden dread that the caliph would ask for a volunteer from among the prisoners, a test subject to ride in this fanciful projectile to the Moon . . . and if so, he planned to fight.

Robur led them to the cliffside, his movements electric with enthusiasm.
 
He remained on his horse and gestured for the others to enter a doorway and descend carved stone steps into chambers excavated from solid rock.
 
After Nemo and the others had entered the complex, Robur dismounted, giving the stallion to one of his white-clad guards, then he followed.

The stone-walled chambers held workers, supplies, and materials to fulfill the technical requirements of the purported moonshot.
 
The base of the immense cannon nestled in an iron cradle mounted into the living rock.

Dominating the echoing room stood a conical projectile that resembled an armored pavilion.
 
Climbing ladders to reach the capsule’s hatch, slaves loaded crates of supplies, cages of chickens, cushioned chairs, and even a goat through the opening.
 
Pudgy, well-dressed men in flowing robes inspected the operations from ground level, looking very important.
 
The men turned toward the newcomers, then bowed deeply when Robur entered.

“We are completing the final preparations, Caliph,” one of the men said, tapping his knuckles together with a clink of jeweled rings.

“We are most gratified that you have given us this opportunity to prove the correctness of our calculations,” another said in a watery voice, more terrified than eager.

“I would have it no other way.”
 
Robur’s voice had a warning edge.

By now, Nemo understood enough Turkish to deduce that these men must be court astronomers and perhaps an ambassador of the Great Sultan who ruled the Ottoman Empire.
 
Caliph Robur had chosen them as his representatives to the Moon.
 
Nemo considered them all fools.

Robur stroked his pointed beard and straightened his turban.
 
He continued to watch the preparations, explaining nothing to the captives.
 
Judging by the glint in his eyes, he wanted the prisoners to figure everything out for themselves.

Cyrus Harding spoke up.
 
“Do you intend to send these men on a journey into space?
 
They’re going to be launched in that capsule?”

“I have chosen them as emissaries -- in the Sultan’s name, of course.
 
They will take everything they need, including fresh food and water, supplies, even baubles for any Moon men they encounter.
 
I intend to open the lunar world for trade with the Ottoman Empire.
 
When he learns of our success, the Sultan will be most pleased.”

Nemo narrowed his eyes.
 
So, the Sultan did not know everything Robur intended.
 
Several of the astronomers trembled with poorly disguised fear at the prospect.
 
Though he resented the warlord, Nemo had to admire the grandeur of the man’s dreams and the lengths to which he would go to achieve them.

“How long do you expect the flight to take, Caliph?” Nemo asked.
 
“And how will the men return to Earth after they succeed in reaching the Moon?”

His expression stony, Robur clenched his jaw.
 
“Those questions remain to be answered.”

As he watched the slaves loading the supplies, Nemo remembered the bustle of preparation before the
Coralie
had sailed from Nantes.
 
This journey would be far different from a simple sea voyage.

Conseil’s round, blinking eyes displayed his astonishment.
 
“No one has ever been to space.
 
No one knows if the Earth’s atmosphere extends to the Moon . . . or what strange air the Moon men might breathe.”

“Nevertheless, our astronomers have no choice but to risk the journey,” Robur said.
 
“I have ordered them to do this for the glory of their omnipotent Sultan.”

When the slaves finished loading the crates and animals and jugs of water, the astronomers climbed up and poked their heads into the capsule opening, one by one.
 
Whispering among themselves, they finally agreed, then stepped back down, gesturing with ringed fingers and flowing robes.
 
Robur climbed the ladder and peered inside the crowded shell.
 
Satisfied, he climbed back down and bowed to his astronomers and ambassador.

Servants bustled in and laid out colorful rugs for the astronomers.
 
Each man knelt and prayed vigorously.
 
Then they stepped off their rugs, rolled them, and tucked them under their arms before climbing into the capsule.
 
Robur saluted them, and the men waved back before another slave sealed the hatch from the outside.

Using a system of gears and pulleys, massively muscled slaves loaded the heavy artillery shell into the enormous breech of the
Columbiad.
 
With a clang, the endcap slammed shut and locked.
 

At a signal from the caliph, the guards commanded everyone to evacuate the complex.
 
Though the workers had little understanding of the experiment, they did not need to be told twice, having seen the huge amounts of black powder poured into the explosive chamber.

Robur took one last look at his magnificent cannon, then gestured to the stone stairs that led out of the caves.
 
His eyes glistened with a fire of anticipation.
 
The prisoners followed him to the plateau, from which they could watch the
Columbiad
fire its shot.
 

Nemo had seen much smaller cannons fired aboard ship, and from his engineering studies he knew all about dynamics and inertia.
 
He did not envy the volunteer astronomers who sat inside the capsule.
 
In fact, he wanted to be far from the mountain when the mammoth gun blasted its projectile to the skies.

“Don’t know about you, but I’d watch out for the recoil,” Cyrus Harding said.

After the prisoners emerged into the bright sun, they hurried along the cliffside paths.
 
One of the slaves was commanded at swordpoint to return to the cave and light the cannon’s long fuse.
 

Back on his stallion again, Robur galloped to a clear area on an elbow of land that had been designated as an observation point.
 
The guards herded their European captives over to stand beside the caliph. “My best engineers made their calculations, and my best metallurgists completed this construction,” the caliph said, staring at the gun that protruded from the cliff.
 
“I have every confidence that they did their jobs correctly.”

The giant gun remained silent in the sunshine, its muzzle pointed upward.
 
Seconds passed, and the waiting became an agony.
 

The hapless slave came running out of the cave complex, his face filled with terror after lighting the fuse.
 
His legs pumped as he dashed along the path; he tripped and sprawled on his face, but managed to gain his feet within an instant.

With a thunderous roar and a belch of smoke like an iron dragon vomiting fire, the
Columbiad
spoke.
 

An explosive clap hammered the observers like a physical force.
 
Poor Conseil fell backward, and Nemo reeled on his feet.
 
Caliph Robur’s horse reared in panic, but the turbaned warlord gripped the reins and viciously brought his stallion back under control without once taking his eyes from the spectacle.

The projectile leaped from the muzzle of the 900-foot-long cannon, soaring into the sky with the speed of a bullet.
 
Nemo couldn’t even imagine the horrendous forces that must be slamming the passengers against the rear of the capsule.
 
Within seconds, the artillery shell dwindled to a dot, arcing high into the Mediterranean sky, far beyond the stretch of the Aegean Sea and out of sight. . . .

Then, an unexpected avalanche occurred at the breech end of the cannon.
 
The
Columbiad
’s recoil proved so terrific that the gigantic artillery weapon hammered back into the mountainside and broke free a chunk of the cliff.
 
Huge slabs of rock sloughed off in a spray of powder and stone dust, then fell down the sheer precipice into the deep blue waters below.

Fire burned from the rear of the cannon and slowly, slowly the muzzle broke from its iron strut-supports, groaning and drooping.
 

Caliph Robur stared, his expression grim.
 
The other captives, who had been amazed at the triumphant shot, now groaned as the
Columbiad
broke free of its mounts.
 
With inexorable grace, the huge gun dropped away from the cliff with an excruciating shriek of torn metal and falling boulders.

Nemo watched with hidden satisfaction as the rest of the tumbling cliffside accompanied the cannon in its plunge.
 
Once it struck the water, the enormous black gun barrel took several seconds to become completely submerged.
 
It sank without a trace into the churning froth.
 

After a long moment, Caliph Robur turned to his European experts, who stared in disbelief at the disaster.
 
His voice was cold.
 
“As you can see, I needed better engineers.”

ix

When the group returned to Rurapente the following day, Caliph Robur summoned them to the center of the compound.
 
The sun crackled through the air, making them all restless and uncomfortable.
 
The independent warlord had brooded throughout the tedious journey across the plains and back down to his secret industrial city.

During their absence, the miners and smelters had continued to produce raw materials and metals.
 
Slaves and indentured workers awaited the orders of their master.
 
Everything was prepared . . . but the engineers still didn’t know why they had been brought here.

Robur stood on a platform, ready to give instructions to his engineers.
 
“You have seen a demonstration of my ambitions.
 
The Sultan rules the Ottoman Empire, and the caliphs are his military advisors.
 
Others whisper conservatism and cowardice in his ear, but only I have the vision, and so I must act on my own, to prove I am right.
 
I intend to provide the Sultan with everything he needs -- including weapons and my own wisdom as his primary advisor.”