An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He hate this island - no, hate is too soft of a word. He loath this island.
Every nook and cranny seems to harbor a new threat. How many times has he told Blaster not to touch anything? How many times has he heard the boy complain after injuring himself handling the treacherous vegetation? Honestly, Nemo has stopped counting.
His bare feet are clogged with mud, and itchy leaves cling to them, loosening their grip only for a few moments of peace. As for the nettles, they seem to have taken a particular liking to him, their incessant stings burning his ankles for hours. They’re not about to leave this cursed spot, let alone find drinking water. A lake, a pond, something! How can an island be so arid?
Humility walks beside them, watching over the child with almost maternal vigilance, which deeply annoys both men. She goes on and on about her passion for discovering new species and her desire to be, once again, superior to the others. But neither Nemo nor Blaster find the energy to ask her to keep quiet. It’s not them, but fate that finally silences her, as she suddenly rolls down a hill that’s a little too steep. But what comes next is not the expected sound of falling on hard ground, no, it’s the sound of splashing water, mingling with the song of cicadas and the murmur of wind-blown branches.
Water. And too far from the sea to be salty - it has to be fresh water.
The next moment, Blaster, having glanced back to where Humility had fallen, almost exclaims with joy. Without hesitation, he launches himself after her, skillfully avoiding both ground and plants to plunge straight into the lake. The depth of the water is revealed when it takes him several seconds to surface. “Nemo! Fresh water! We can take it back to the Nautilus!” The interested party nods. Of course, he’s delighted by this discovery, but he has to remain realistic: they’ll still have to find the time and strength to carry enough water to last a month, maybe two, at most.
The lake is isolated, far from the beach, but Nemo knows that with careful organization, he can mobilize his crew to form an effective human chain. By optimizing everyone’s efforts, he’s almost convinced they can get enough fresh water to the submarine and ration the Nautilus in less than a day.
He continues walking, plotting the most direct route to the lake on foot. Once there, he’s sure that with twelve men, the human chain to transport the water will be both competent and fast, provided everyone pitches in. By placing the company’s traitor between Kai and Jiacomo, he hopes their presence will be enough to dissuade him from any sabotage attempts. With any luck, this strategy will secure the water supply without incident and-
“What are you pondering about?” Humility interrupts him in his musings, and Nemo shakes his head to refocus.
“To efficiently organize the rationing of the Nautilus. With twelve men, we should be able to supply ourselves with water in a day.”
“Provided we don’t start now, right?”
Nemo is well aware of reality, and he doesn’t need to be reminded. The sun is already beginning to set, and by the time they return to the beach, it may be dark. He sits down against a fallen tree to clean his feet, trying not to scratch the hives covering his ankles from the nettles.
And here for a French translation!
