The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) (14 page)

Listener nodded his shaggy head. ‘Come over here to the edge of the raft. Look down. The shadows have already cut off most to the abyss, but you can see some domes down there. The Deep Cult depends on us, just as we depend on them. If we broke our chain offerings, they’d have to move on to some other clan who would be more faithful. They could starve.’

Larry watched the deep canyon for movement.

‘There’s one now, coming for our offering.’

An angel appeared, wings and all, moving between the deep domes. It waited on a ledge, far below, moving the wings slowly – staring up. Larry put his face into the water to get a better look. The angel waited casually. He couldn’t see its face, but there was no sign of bulky diving gear. It seemed to be breathing water, or not breathing at all. He watched for several minutes, then returned to his place mat. The offering was dumped. It drifted down, trailing flowers and bubbles.

‘What has the Deep Cult given us today?’ asked Larry. He spoke loud. If this was a cruel hoax, he wanted no part of it. His back was mending and his strength returned. He was ready to move on if his honesty offended these superstitious people.

Big Har leaned forward, all open-eyed and eager. He’d accept the Deep Cult – whatever it was. Trilobite’s tail went up. Larry’s voice carried the note of challenge. But there was no need for caution. Listener smiled and pulled out a sheet of metal foil on which delicate lines and symbols had been stamped.

‘Their map tells of a new approach to the Gardens – a Halfway House in Octopus Bay.’

Larry studied the underwater contours. Umbrellas and domes were marked along a ridge leading to a new landing site on the beach.

‘This will increase our access to the food,’ said Listener. ‘The domes have not been checked out. They may or may not be viable, but they are the most stable model we’ve found. If we can stimulate them to make air bubbles for us—’

Opal raised her hand. ‘Har and I will copy this map and check it out.’ She smiled at Larry. ‘You and your meck can come along too. A little mapping expedition will make you feel useful.’

‘Why all the concern for the Gardens?’ said Larry. ‘If our deity is bringing back the ocean food chain?’

Listener remained solemn. ‘We realize how long it will take to bring back the fish. Even a miracle must allow for Nature’s own timetable.’

Hope, thought Larry. All Trilobite gave them was hope, and they would make the best of it. He grabbed the meck’s tail. ‘Let’s go.’

‘There’s the ridge,’ said Opal, pointing under the edge of the umbrella towards the distant grey contour. Larry and Har shared the bubble with her. Her hair fanned out and tangled with theirs.

‘It looks so far away – and so dark.’

‘Must be nearly half a mile away, across one of the deeper canyons. That’s why we’ve never bothered with it. If there are living domes, they certainly don’t show up from here.’

‘How will we check it out? Go around the beach way on the surface?’

Opal shook her head. ‘No. Take too long, with the day in Halfway. The beach is too dangerous anyway. Not worth the risk unless you are after calories. I could tow you over in about ten minutes.’

‘Ten minutes!’ choked Har. ‘I can’t hold my breath that long.’

She tried to taste the umbrella air. ‘I think you could. This is level five. If we can find a dome along here that is down in the mating level – level seven – you’d be able to absorb enough oxygen to make it.’

‘Ten minutes,’ moaned Har. ‘What if we can’t find air right away? Can we go up?’

‘No. The “pops” would get you,’ she said. ‘We’ll send Trilobite across to check for air. If we know where we are going to it will save time.’

Larry let Trilobite tow him down to level six. They entered a large air-filled dome that had a sweetish odour. Wilted flowers were smudged over the raft. Five fathoms below, they saw a pair of warm domes glowing slightly.

‘Those are Mating Domes,’ Opal said. ‘We can wait there while Trilobite explores the ridge. The rich air may make you feel a bit silly, but it should be only a mild intoxication if we leave shortly.’

The humans approached Mating Domes while the shovel-shaped meck darted out over the canyon. Two hundred yards out a strong current pushed him off course. He charted his drift and tried to calculate what the effect on humans would be. The drift was purely horizontal. There was no tendency to change levels. The new ridge had many living domes. All were well filled with air. Water cups were full. He marked the location of several on his mind map and started back.

‘Why are these called “Mating Domes”?’ asked Larry.

‘We mate here,’ said Opal casually. ‘This one is the male dome. That one over there is for females.’

Har’s Tweenwaller existence had left him psychologically neutral. His knowledge of human reproduction was limited to the Hive’s peculiar five categories of birth permit. Heterosexual imprinting hadn’t occurred. ‘Males here; females over there?’ he said.

Larry was visibly puzzled also. The excess nitrogen was beginning to make him giddy. ‘The domes must be a hundred feet apart. No sperm could make it that far unless it was with the current.’ He giggled.

Har appeared sleepy. He gestured with an awkward arm. ‘The hundred-foot dash.’

‘Like the clams used to do it in my day,’ laughed Larry.

‘You two have had too much of this thick air. We’d better get back up to level six and sober up,’ admonished Opal.

Trilobite returned and detailed his findings. ‘It is at least a ten-minute trip. Opal and I will take the front of the rope. Larry, you and Har will relax and be towed. We’ll stop for two minutes at level seven and pink-up your capillary beds – supersaturate with oxygen.’

The meck and human rope train moved into the Mating Dome again. ‘Press your little finger against my optic so I can monitor the oxygen saturation,’ said the meck. Larry breathed deeply and rapidly until he felt dizzy. ‘That’s enough for you, Larry. Take one more deep breath, and let’s go.’

Trilobite towed them clear of the dome and Opal began her slow steady kick. Big Har gripped the rope and squeezed his eyes shut. When they hit the cross-current Larry felt the cold pushing him off course. He tried not to think of the pressure dangers above and below – frosted blue and muddy black. The rocky landscape ahead slowly came into sharper focus. Five more minutes to go. He was relieved when he realized that he hadn’t even thought of taking a breath. He glanced back to Har. The giant had opened his eyes and was grinning.

‘We made it – easily!’ exclaimed Larry.

Opal nodded and looked around the dome. ‘It would have been tough without this air pocket. I would have had to tickle the dome and make it back to the Mating Dome on one breath. Might have had to do it several times before the dome air-filled for me. Those twenty-minute round trips could get exhausting – and dangerous.’

Larry duck-walked on his hands, examining the raft.

‘Pretty clean looking. No sign of prior inhabitants. Who air-filled it?’

‘Probably one of the Deep Cult, after they gave us the map. They would send a dome tickler to make the crossing safe for us.’

Har sat and studied the map. ‘There must be over a dozen . . .’

‘Looks like a score of new domes,’ said Opal. ‘We can set up a new Halfway at level two and warm a couple of the best-situated domes for ourselves.’ Larry noticed that Opal’s expression became thoughtful and soft when she spoke to Har. He waddled on his hands to the edge of the raft and hopped into the water. ‘Trilobite and I will check some of those domes on level four.’

Har was puzzled. ‘Shouldn’t we work our way directly to Halfway? We’ll be needing food—’

Opal touched his shoulder. ‘There’ll be time for that later. Let’s talk.’

She explained that Har would be expected to choose a mate almost immediately. The Benthics were under a time pressure – caloric and reproductive. Males were in short supply, and as soon as his bots cleared, the unattached females would be after him.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the runts. But do not worry. I have come from the Hive and do not fear it. Hive Citizens are weak and afraid. They can’t possibly defend their Gardens against me. When I cry out, they’ll die of fright.’

Opal smiled. ‘Have you been in the Gardens before?’

‘No.’

‘You have much to learn. Those devil machines can kill you. They took my first mate from me. My father and brother also died up there.’

Har’s expression was thoughtful disbelief. ‘They weren’t big like me – were they?’

‘My brother was bigger. He was gone for three days. He came back with an arrow in his belly and died in Halfway. Now I must go to the Gardens to feed my son. It is very dangerous.’

‘Your son?’

‘Clam. He grows and studies with the Deep Cult. You will meet him.’

‘I will be your new mate – and feed you and your son,’ said Har confidently.

Opal smiled. ‘You may – when you are ready.’

‘Har is ready now.’ His gesture was awkward but gentle – a caress on the pectoralis muscle bulge between her wide small breasts.

‘There’s something I should explain . . .’

He continued to stroke her body, using the sequences as well as he could remember from the Hive’s class-one birth permit (human parents, human uterus-incubator, free choice of mates).

‘We can’t mate here,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘There is no Mating Dome.’

Har frowned. ‘Custom?’

‘Ceremony,’ she corrected. ‘Benthics mate underwater to prove their autonomic tone and myoglobin integrity.’

‘We are underwater—’

‘
Underwater!
’ she said. ‘
In and under
. The entire – er – mating sequence has to be completed while submerged.’

‘What for? It is nice here – warm, dry—’

‘We must prove that we have good Benthic genes before we conceive.’

‘That sounds so didactic,’ said Har. ‘When did you pick up such a—’

She grasped his hand firmly. Her voice was low, patient. ‘It is our way. The Deep Cult teaches it to all prepubertals. Our life is hard enough under the sea when we have the proper genes. To conceive a child with weak genes would endanger not only the child, but the family unit that tries to raise him.’

Har nodded. ‘You have the proper genes – your son Clam—’

‘And I hope you have good genes too, Har. But I wouldn’t want to bring a weak surface-dweller into our world. If my child couldn’t manufacture enough myoglobin for a twenty-minute swim, he couldn’t survive in the domes. When you have that ability, I will know you have that gene.’

‘I crossed that canyon.’

‘You were towed. Ten minutes of breath-holding is not a twenty-minute swim. You are still a surface-dweller. The level-seven air got you across.’

‘When will I be ready?’

‘Soon, I hope.’

The brief episode of foreplay had warmed Har’s loins. ‘I think I could succeed right now.’

Opal saw the sexual flush. Her long years without a man had robbed her of her usual caution. ‘It’s worth a try,’ she said. ‘But you lack a tow-head. It will be difficult. I’ll show you the easiest way. Stay here and hyperventilate. We don’t have a level-seven dome, so this will have to do. When your fingertips tingle, leave the dome swimming slowly on your back. I’ll come from that dome over there.’

Har squinted through the transparent wall. The other dome was twenty yards away, about two fathoms above.

She gave him a quick hug. ‘Separate your efforts now. Physically you will do nothing. Let me do the work. I have the myoglobin for it. I have more than enough oxygen-carrying capacity. But mentally you’ll have to work very hard. I don’t know which sexual fantasies you’ve been imprinted with, but call them all up. I know I’m not very erotic – all wet, cold and leathery. But keep your mind on my erogenous zones. Remember: physically – do nothing; mentally – do everything!’

Har smiled meekly.

She gave him a swat on the wet buttock. ‘We might just do it at that!’

He began slow deep breathing as she swam away. Her form seemed to get more interesting as it moved farther away; the haziness added mystery. When his fingertips tingled he left the dome, swimming slowly. When he rolled over on his back, water bubbled into his left ear. The frosted blue surface was clearly above him – overhead – but the distance added depth. She hit him hard. He hadn’t noticed her approach, when suddenly she was on him. He saw bright eyes and white teeth. The teeth sunk into his left shoulder while her toes hooked behind his knees. He wrapped his arms around her – a clumsy movement that set the lovers spinning slowly. His view rotated to the muddy black bottom, only a few fathoms below. Her fingernails raked his back as her pubic bone struck his. Her teeth opened a few capillaries. A pink stain drifted past his face. They continued to rotate. With one hand she managed a brief penetration. Her other hand was busy trying to stop their spinning. Her heels locked behind his knees and her pelvic thrusts began – a demanding rhythm. His excitement phase was washed away by vertigo. She tried several strokes and pressure points, but he was unresponsive. His pelvic nerves were drained by nauseating dizziness. She pushed him away – back towards the welcome air bubble of his dome. In a few minutes she joined him.

‘I guess you aren’t quite ready,’ she said cheerfully, swatting his buttock again.

He rubbed the teeth marks on his shoulder.

‘You’ll have a nice hard callus there after you tow a few hundred loads from the Gardens,’ she said. ‘And I forgot to tell you to keep your arms out straight – to stabilize us. The rotating will distract you every time.’

Har shrugged and stretched out on the raft.

‘It was a good try,’ she said, joining him. ‘A good try.’

They slept.

During the months that followed, Har’s breath-holding ability increased. He grew a tough tow-head on his left shoulder and mated successfully. Trilobite and the hemihuman explored the shelf, making new friends and mapping warm domes.

Furlong studied the reports. ‘Is this all we have? A few hazy optics and these auditory prints?’ He passed a stack of flimsies to Ode. Drum reached into the reports and pulled out one of the voiceprints. He sorted through and separated all the prints into one pile.