Hewett is dressed in an old blue bathrobe and pajamas. His face is still haggard. His white hair is like a greasy tuft of cotton just burst from the pod. But he’s alive, and he doesn’t stink. I take those two things as signs of progress.

“Ana, you’ve done better than I ever imagined,” he tells me.

I study his face. He’s never called me Ana before.

“Is that a compliment?” I ask carefully. “I’m not sure how well you imagined me doing.”

He wheezes. “Oh, please don’t make me laugh. It hurts. No, Prefect…Captain Dakkar. I always knew you were capable of greatness. I am sorry I did not show you that, or extend you the respect you deserved.”

I narrow my eyes. “But?”

“No but,” he assures me. “It’s true that Dev was everyone’s focus, including mine. I worried he was too impetuous, too angry, too…Well, too much like me, and like the students I taught at Land Institute. That’s why I tried so hard to counsel him. Still, I never imagined he would…” Hewett shakes his head sadly. “At any rate, you were the one we should have been preparing for command. Despite insufficient training, in the midst of utmost tragedy, look what you have accomplished.” He gestures at the Nautilus. “Have you decided what we will do next?”

My feet feel glued to the dock. “We? Is that really my decision?”

Dr. Hewett arches his shaggy eyebrows. “Oh, yes. You are Captain Nemo now. The Nautilus has accepted you. The remaining students have accepted you. And the faculty…what remains of us…we have seen your potential. We will assist you, continue your training if you wish. But you will set our course. Whatever you decide, we are here for you.”

I’m grateful to hear this, but I also feel strangely uneasy. I wonder if this is what it means to be a leader, and if the doubts ever go away.

“I have to talk to Ester,” I tell him. “And the rest of the class, of course. But, yes, I think I know what happens next….”

The answer is dinner.

The answer is always dinner.

First, I check with Ester. She is in complete agreement with my plan. Then I run my ideas past Gem and Nelinha. They are both on board. Nelinha’s only comment is “Of course. Duh.”

Top listens and wags his tail, which either means he loves the way I think, or he wants a treat.

That night, the entire crew gathers around the dining table in the main hall of Lincoln Base. The Great British Bake Off is playing in the background—our comfort soundtrack of choice. Jupiter waddles around, handing out plates of crespelle alla fiorentina. The wafer-thin pancakes are made from porphyra flour and buttery-tasting algae oil. The “ricotta-and-spinach” filling is carrageen-moss extract and seaweed. The sauce…You know what? I don’t care. I’m just going to eat it, because it tastes good.