Chapter 3

The Nautilus

Amelia

Victorian London was dark at night, so very dark compared to the cities she was used to. She remembered visiting (modern) New York City once. It was bumper-to-bumper traffic at eleven o'clock at night and light seemed to come from everywhere: headlights, shop windows, street lights, LED billboards that it hardly seemed like night at all. Here, gas-lit street lamps were few and far between, the soft light emitted from buildings was muted by curtains kept closed by a society much more fearful of the night. The only other lights came from candle-lanterns of the few horse-drawn carriages that passed by, which paled greatly in comparison to the bright electric lights of Nemo's cars. She might even have been able to see the stars, if not for the perpetual rain, fog and mist that seemed to cling to the city all year round. She had been following the trail of a water droplet down the glass window with her eyes when they slowly began to close, unable to fight of the crushing fatique any more...

"Are you alright, Miss Storm?" came a low, soft voice from the front seat. She started awake and glanced forward, catching Captain Nemo's eyes looking at her through what looked like a rudimentary, but efficient, rear-view mirror.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, pushing a few wisps of hair from her face, attempting to blink away the heaviness that had settled on her eyelids.

"It's just been a long day, I'm very tired."

She'd been extremely grateful to have the car mostly to herself. The rest of the League shared cars, and Sawyer seemed keen on accompanying her but Ishmael had pointedly stated the car was too full, with himself and the Captain in the front seat and 'Miss Storm' and her effects taking up the back. She'd felt badly for Sawyer, walking away looking a bit dejected but still in good humour, of all things in the rain, but she needed some time to herself, and good god did she need to rest...

The Captain was quiet for a moment after she spoke and just as Amelia began to suspect he didn't believe her, he answered "Of course. We will be at the docks and aboard the Nautilus soon. I thought to plan a dinner for the crew but considering the time, would you prefer something light to eat sent to your room?"

Amelia smiled. "That would be perfect, thank you." She fought the urge to take the energy bar out of her pocket. All she had to do was make it to the Nautilus, perhaps if she kept talking...

"I'm very...intrigued by this idea of time travel, but I must say I am at a loss on some of the finer points of it's use," said the Captain. "Perhaps, if you don't mind, you could clarify a few details."

Thank god.

"Yes," she answered as brightly as she could manage. "Feel free to ask."

"Thank you. Now, these portable devices...there only exists two? Rather odd I feel, considering the possible...benefits that may arise with this technology."

"Ah, yes," she began. "Well the extreme amounts of electromagnetic energy required to power the portals needs to be conducted by a material that can withstand the force. The device itself can be powered by solar energy, much like your ship, but that power needs to be channeled to one point to transport a human and most materials, man-made or natural, cannot withstand the process. You can understand this would be an issue with travelling. You could become stranded wherever your destination is, if you make it there at all."

Ishmael chuckled lowly as he pulled to a stop to allow a few hansom carriages to pass, then continued on.

"The only material we've found that is strong enough and shows no sign of deteriorating is extremely rare, called Andromedite."

"Andromedite?" asked Nemo animatedly. " As in Andromeda from Greek myth?"

"In a way, yes," she replied, leaning forward resting her elbows on her knees. "The element was found inside a meteorite that had fallen to earth. A meteor had been spotted in the sky near the Andromeda constellation and the meteorite was found days later, after the meteor disappeared, so they guessed that was where it came from." She leaned back against the plush seat, gazed out the window and muttered "I wanted to call it 'Kryptonite' but noooo."

"Pardon, Miss Amelia?"

"Oh, nothing, sorry. Anyways, there was only enough of the element to make two portals, and as far as we know the element has only been found once before in history and in a smaller quantity."

"Mr. Wells' machine?" asked Ishmael from the driver's seat. Amelia saw the Captain's eyes flash to his first mate, then back to hers in the reflection of the mirror before looking straight ahead. She could have sworn she saw pride in his eyes for a moment. Maybe she was just tired.

"Yes!" she continued excitedly. "TRACE knew Wells was using a rare 'metal,' as he described it, it wasn't until months of research we discovered it could be from a meteorite. After a few more months of tests we found the right material. Mo...TRACE was pretty pleased when they met Wells and discovered he was using the same material." She fell quiet, absently rubbing spot on her arm where the watch was. She knew it should be on her wrist but she'd already cracked the face once, it wasn't happening again.

"We're here, Cap'n, Miss Storm."

Amelia stepped out onto the wet pavement, pulling up her hood. Her coat was a modified wool peacoat. A friend back at home had cut it shorter and added a slight streamlined bustle to the back, going down to just above her knees. The sleeves had been lengthened and tapered towards the wrists and included sophisticated thumbholes which wrapped around her thin fleece gloves. The color was high and hid a matching hood that could be removed or attached if needed. When she'd found out she would be going to Victorian England, her friend decided she needed something to help her 'blend in.' Given all of the stares she'd gotten during the odd occasions when she ventured out into London public she knew she did anything but 'blend in.' Apparently the future's idea of Victorian fashion did not coincide with actual Victorian fashion. She didn't mind though. Her friend had given it tons of functional hidden pockets, two of which in the bustle where her hands were now. Her right hand closed upon her phone. She took it out of her pocket, shielding it from the rain, slid her thumb across the screen to unlock it.

No service, of course, can't help but check though. It wouldn't be the first impossible thing to happen in my life.

She sighed and put the phone back into her pocket. It may not be able to make calls or browse the internet but it was unendingly useful in so many other ways. Pulling her hood down to shield her eyes from the rain, she finally looked up at the Nautilus. From her position on the dock and with the rain and mist it seemed to stretch farther than her eyes could see. Gleaming white metal sides seemed to stretch to the clouds themselves above her, while decadent accents in silver curled about it's blade-shaped bow.

"What do you think of her?" asked the Captain at her shoulder.

"Magnificent," she breathed, not taking her eyes off of the glorious ship in front of her.

"Indeed, Miss Storm? Out of all the marvels you must have seen in the futu..."

"Magnificent," she repeated.

If she had turned she would have seen the Captain give a small, proud smile under his dark beard, before directing a deck hand to gather Amelia's things.

A sound finally drew her attention as she saw Ishmael slid her bag out of the vehicle and made to hand it to a deck hand.

"No!" she half-shouted, stopping herself just shy of snatching the bag seeing the men's bewildered faces.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "It's just I'm not accustomed to letting that particular bag out of my sight, nothing against you or your men, Captain," taking the bag Ishmael was now handing her.

Great, less than a day in and you're already offending people.

"Not at all, Miss Storm," nodded the Captain obligingly. "Is there anything else you would prefer to keep on your person or can my men bring the rest of your effects to your room?"

"Um...hold on," she said, dashing back into the vehicle. She emerged a few seconds later with a large black, flat case with a slight curve and a handle.

"This rest should be fine, thank you." She gave the Captain a thankful, if not tired smile and followed a beckoning Ishmael into the ship. Nemo gave a small chuckle in amusement before walking off briskly to attend to his men and his ship.

Quartermain

Everything was too crowded, too cold, too wet, too metal. He pushed his way through the crush of Nemo's crew rushing about to prepare the ship for sail, and guests, he imagined. If he could say one thing about the Captain it was the man was efficient. While for all the world it looked as if the crew had one million and one things to do, the ship was in prime condition and ready for battle, transport, or guests at a moment's notice. The ship may be the best, no, the ONLY in it's class, it didn't mean he had to like it. He finally reached the room Nemo had given him on their last voyage. He wouldn't admit it but he was glad he remembered where it was, old age had taken part of his eyesight, his energy and his optimism, but so far not his memory.

Stepping into the room he expected it to be dark. It was softly lit by a few practically placed lamps, and furnished with a simple, but comfortable bed, a sturdy wooden desk and bureau, a few small tables and an armchair by a lit fireplace. As he dropped his bundle on the bed, he glanced at the desk and bureau again. With a grunt he pulled his glasses from his pocket and put them on and inspected the furniture closely.

"African rosewood," he said with a gruff sigh. "The man does think of everything doesn't he."

Despite the exotic accoutrements provided by the Captain, this was not home. This overstuffed sardine can was a far cry from his African veldts with the sometimes unbearable heat three-quarters of the year and unending rain the last quarter of the year, worlds different from the relentless drizzle of England. These were not his people, with whom he could live the rest of his long life in peace and anonymity.

He dropped into the chair at the fire and started flipping through the file R had given them a few hours earlier. He flipped past the endless pages of blueprints to modern technology he knew nothing of. The files on Well's Traveller and the Other Traveller were exasperatingly devoid of any useful information. Skinner and Grey certainly had their work cut out for them. Curiosity got the better of him as he flipped to the Storm girl's file. He peered down his glasses at the fine print: Born in Canada in 2010, child of one of TRACE's founders it seemed. Phased into the program in her teens. Currently their only time traveller. Twenty-three years old.

"Twenty-bloody-three years old," growled Quartermain as he stood suddenly, throwing the file down on the desk, a few pages fluttering to the floor. He glared for a moment into the fire before sitting back down into the chair again.

Why am I even here? I shouldn't have come, he thought to himself.

"I'm too old for this," he said aloud, to no one but himself. At his age he found it hard to not view childish and youthful enthusiasm with anything other than disdain. Youthful enthusiasm and ego got you killed. He had seen enough death to know it, yet he seemed to be the obsolete one. A relic of the past while younger heads prevailed. He had taken so long to warm up to Sawyer, and that was helped by the fact that he looked so much like...

"Why did I even come here," he said again, softly. His thoughts turned to the summons R had sent him in his club in Kenya.

"For Queen and Country?" he chuckled mirthlessly.

Always for Queen and Country.