The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) (22 page)

Drum could not understand why the CO was dissatisfied with ARNOLD’s performance. It was clear that he had the Benthic subdued. He had it down on the deck. A good grip on its hair – oh, oh – of course! He wasn’t fighting. He was copulating. The Benthic was female.

Drum chuckled, wheezed and coughed.

‘Humour?’ asked the CO.

‘It must be those “Dan-with-the-Golden-Tooth” leptosoul tapes,’ laughed Drum. ‘Dan never could tell a bet from a stud fee!!’

ARNOLD stepped away from prone White Belly. He pulled her weapon from his wound and tossed it aside with a cavalier air. She scrambled into a crouched position, eyes blazing. Her speckled skin excited him. He took a step towards her.

‘Touch me again and I’ll kill you,’ she growled.

He paused, thinking. Odd, but the threat meant absolutely nothing to him. He continued to advance. She glanced around for her iron. It was too far away. Turning she dived into the sea.

‘Why?’ asked CO.

‘Copulins,’ explained
Rorqual
. ‘The primate sexual pheromones from the vaginal mucosa of a mature female. She was in her follicular phase and reeking of male sex attractant. My sensors caught a few short whiffs of her body odour and ran them through the chromatographs. Simple aliphatic acids: acetic, propionic, isobutyric, etc. – the constituents of copulins. ARNOLD is male. He couldn’t control himself.’

The Committee reviewed the behaviour of their marine gladiator.

‘All he needs is a set of nose plugs and he’ll do just fine.’

But ARNOLD did not do just fine. He stood on the deck a long time before returning to the work on the hump trees.

‘That axe—’ objected Security.

Drum waved him silent. ‘Let us allow the warrior to clear the hump. Then we will consider the problem of the axe.’

Aries had spoken.

ARNOLD worked slowly, but smoothly. With one eye on the seas he directed the cranes. Fallen trunks were removed. Then came the twisted plates with their medusa heads of gnarled roots. New plates were smelted and rolled from the scrap.
Rorqual
’s skin was healed. The ship was grateful.

Drum hated to bother ARNOLD with the axe-weapon question. The ship was relaying the giant’s bioelectricals and it was clear that his encounter with the Benthic female had upset him.

‘ARNOLD, I am calling about the axe—’

The screen went blank.

‘He has toggled off.
Rorqual
is silent.’ said the CO. ‘I have a fix on his course. He is sailing into the Benthic-controlled zone.’

Drum relaxed. He’d allow the warrior a period of rest. Except for Security, the other faces around the table were expressionless. Psychteck reviewed optic records of the giant’s behaviour and stood up to address the members.

‘He is sexually imprinted on the Benthic. I think it is his leptosoul experiences with the speckled hens. That Benthic was speckled with freckles. The leaves and wood chips helped bring out his battlecock-broodcock behaviour.’

Drum nodded and adjourned the meeting.

Wandee finished her calculations and joined Drum at the long ear. ‘Here is the symptom projection of ARNOLD without his fifteen-amino-acid bread. Since he needs all fifteen in his diet, a deficiency of any one of them will bring on protein starvation – not a pretty way to go: weakness, muscle aches, lethargy, edema, paralysis, and death. The protein will be broken down for routine metabolic needs.’

Drum was depressed at the projection. Skin and bowel ulcer would appear finally as ARNOLD lost the ability to manufacture new epithelial cells.

‘How long does he have?’

Wandee shrugged. ‘Efficiency should be dropping already. Body stores will carry him for a while, but in three weeks his Kreb’s enzymes will need to be rebuilt. If they aren’t, he’ll be profoundly weak.’

‘I doubt if that will force him to surrender. He is very stubborn.’

‘Let’s bargain with him,’ suggested Wandee. ‘The Hive wants its marine calories. We can be generous if he maintains his delivery schedule. He could have plenty of free time for these Benthic hunts.’

Drum nodded. ‘Let’s try to reach him.’

The long ear pulsed: ‘ARNOLD, son, resume your duty – please. Your Hive city starves. We have grown dependent on the extra calories. Bring in your Harvester and its plankton.’

Silence. No answering carrier wave. A sweep of the bands brought in only static and Agromeck voices.

‘I cannot be certain that your message was received,’ said CO. ‘Record another for repeated transmission.’

Drum felt exhausted. ‘You’ll have to simulate the silence inflections. I feel too old and tired.’ He scribbled a few notes as the visual composite was drawn. ‘ARNOLD, son, thou art slain,’ he began. ‘I know that you want to be free, and I understand – but you cannot. We designed your genes; we gave you a good mind and a powerful body – the best in the Hive. But your design is defective. Your metabolism is dependent on a diet of fifteen-amino-acid bread. Without it you will sicken and die. You must believe me, son – and come back.’

CO augmented the message. Drum and Wandee monitored the first transmission. They could hardly recognize themselves: sympathetic, young, loving images from ARNOLD’s childhood. Their clear eyes, pink cheeks, and dark hair were pure fabricated nostalgia!

The carrier wave appeared. Drum saw a view of
Rorqual
’s control cabin. ARNOLD was not in sight. The ship spoke in a confidential whisper: ‘My captain doubts your words, Drum. I would like to relay the message in words he can understand. Why does he need the special bread?’

‘It contains a correct ratio of amino acids.’

‘All humans require essential amino acids.’

Wandee nodded: ‘Correct. We need nine. The Hive’s CQB diet contains them. However, ARNOLD’s protein metabolism is artificially dependent on fifteen amino acids – all fifteen are essential for him. He cannot survive on the usual CQB table set for his crew. He will sicken and die if just one amino acid is missing.’

‘Name the amino acids,’ said the ship.

‘Classified. I am not allowed to discuss it.’

‘Understandable. I will speak with my captain. I will try to make him realize his danger.’
Rorqual
signed off. The screen darkened – static.

Wandee and Drum remained at their post for twelve hours. No answer from ARNOLD. Drum shrugged. He had expected this. Nothing frightens a warrior with the battlecock leptosoul – not the threat of death, and least of all an incomprehensible molecule.

The Nebish crew watched their captain weaken. For weeks they searched in ever-widening circles, but the Benthics eluded them.

ARNOLD leaned on the crane and watched the wide mesh net reel in – empty. ‘Didn’t catch her?’

‘No,’ said
Rorqual
. ‘I detected a warm body at two hundred thirteen feet, but my net manipulations weren’t quick enough to capture it. It fled into one of those domes.’

‘Can we put a grapple on the dome?’

‘Yes, but it would just flee to another.’

ARNOLD studied the view-screen. ‘Two hundred feet. That doesn’t seem like much. Why don’t I climb down the grapple rope and take a look inside that dome? Maybe it is the female with the white belly.’

‘That isn’t safe,’ warned the ship.

‘Why?’

‘The pressure is too great down there.’

‘I am an ARNOLD. She survived the dive, and she is only a female.’

‘A female Benthic. She may have abilities we know nothing about. You are a product of the Hive. And – your diet weakens you. We have need of fifteen-amino-acid bread. Let us return to port for supplies.’

‘My speckled hen is down there. I will go down to her,’ said ARNOLD. His amino-acid cycle had ground to a halt and a peculiar type of starvation was sapping his strength. He ate everything
Rorqual
offered him, but she was unable to match the exact needs of his crudely damaged pathways. Always there was at least one molecule in short supply, and he starved.

Rorqual
extruded a transparent globe helmet and three hundred feet of hose. The crew dutifully outfitted their captain for the dive – weighted shoes, remote optics and communicators, lance, web bag, and lifeline. He dressed confidently.

‘If anything goes wrong you can always just pull me up,’ said ARNOLD. ‘Can you pump air that far down?’

‘We’ll go slow the first time.’

ARNOLD put one foot on the grapple and the crane lifted him clear of the deck. He ignored the cold and the pressure as he was lowered into the depths. The bubble helmet was thick, giving him a hazy, limited view of the olive-green shapes around him. Fish circled, often as large as his thigh, and scaly. When they began to nudge him he waved his lance to dampen their curiosity.

‘Comments?’ asked the ship.

‘Next time let’s give this helmet an optically ground surface. I can’t see too well.’

‘Anything else? Is the air satisfactory?’

‘So far. Continue lowering.’

As he approached the dome, six pink shapes slipped away, quickly. They were so swift that ARNOLD barely had time to count them before they darted out of sight beyond his field of vision. He attempted a few clumsy movements in their direction, but only managed to fall off his grapple and flounder to the roof of the dome. He climbed inside and on to the roof of the dome. He climbed inside and on to the raft. Removing his helmet, he gingerly sampled the air.

‘What do you see?’ asked the ship.

ARNOLD picked up his helmet and aimed it around so
Rorqual
’s optic could record the findings: raft, utensils, water cup, and scraps of a meal. ARNOLD tasted the contents of the bowls.

‘They live down here,’ said ARNOLD. ‘They eat as I eat. They breathe as I do. I am going to leave my weighted boots here and search the other domes. Keep the air coming.’

By holding a minimum of air in his lungs he was able to stay on the bottom without weights. Using the rocky bottom for handholds, he climbed across to another dome. It too was empty. Apparently the Benthics could see much farther than he. They avoided him with ease.

‘Nothing here either. Might as well take me up. I’m beginning to feel peculiar.’

Rorqual
reeled in the grappling cable quickly. ‘Next time we will equip you with bioelectricals to monitor your physiology,’ commented the ship.

ARNOLD ignored the first twinges of pain in his arms and legs. His skin itched and he felt as if he were choking. The ship heard his rapid, gasping respirations. She raised him faster. He clung to the cable with both hands and she lifted him to the deck.

‘White Team!’ called the ship.

ARNOLD staggered around the deck pushing the solicitous Nebishes away. His skin became marbled with a purple rash. ‘My arm! I can’t move my arm,’ he shouted. He stood still for a long, silent moment while his empty gaze told them he couldn’t see either. Then he tipped over slowly and lay still. The White Team struggled with the comatose giant. ‘Pulse irregular, but strong. Respirations steady. We’re moving him to his cabin.’

Rorqual
wept over her silent warrior. His bare feet had brought her pleasure, and now he was dying. She searched her memories for clues, but there was no stored knowledge of deep science. She was a surface ship.

The Medimeck finished its analysis and reported to the ship: ‘Multiple small tissue injuries consistent with a shower of particles in the blood. Coma due to cerebral edema.’

‘Particles?’ said
Rorqual
. ‘Of what?’

‘Unknown. Clotting mechanism seems normal. No venous clots. But it isn’t life-threatening. He should be improving soon. However, three of his amino acids are dangerously low. Can you supply him with glutamic acid, alanine, and phenylalanine?’

‘I have tons of plankton, but am unable to purify the amino acids.’

‘Ask the Hive. I’m certain the information you need is on file down at Bio or Synthe,’ suggested the White Meck.

Chairman Drum was awakened by the CO. ‘
Rorqual Maru
is on the air.’

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘What are they saying?’

‘Standard meck-to-meck request for information: hydrolysis of proteins and chromatographic resolution of ninhydrin positive constituents.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Drum, pulling on his slippers.

‘It means that the ship has defected.’

‘What?’

‘
Rorqual
is asking for the information she will need if she is to make the fifteen-amino-acid bread for ARNOLD.’

‘Don’t send it,’ said Drum, ‘. . . just yet. Where are they now?’

CO projected a chart with the ship’s location indicated by a glowing whale. A dotted line gave its course during the previous days.

Drum nodded. ‘Good. Now how soon can we get one of our new Harvesters into the water?’

The CO saw his plan. ‘We can use one as a pursuit vessel right now. The hull and drive units are ready. Their cyber circuitry is a long way from completion, but it could shadow
Rorqual
on manual.’

Drum nodded. ‘Put the coastline Agromecks on lookout. Let’s hope they stay in range until we can launch Pursuit One.’

ARNOLD walked the deck, stiff-legged, with a cane.

‘I’ll not go back to the Hive without my speckled hen,’ grumbled the giant. ‘I am recovering from the pains of the deep. I can continue to search for her.’

‘Your amino-acid cycle sputters. You need your Hive bread to live,’ said the ship.

‘Keep trying to share the memory banks at Bio. If they drop their guard for just a second, we’ll learn the sequence.’

Hemihuman Larry rode Trilobite’s disc across the choppy bay. The water was flattened by the meck’s field – a mirror-smooth zone six metres wide surrounded them.

‘I have
Rorqual
’s carrier wave pinpointed,’ said Trilobite. ‘She is close. Right around that peninsula.’

‘What is that message she keeps sending? Why isn’t the Hive answering?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘The Hive’s long ear is working?’

‘Yes. Apparently there is a security override on the conversation. Looks like the ship is in trouble.’

While Larry was wondering how a Harvester could find itself a Security risk, Trilobite’s lingual readout spilled their two-way: ‘
Rorqual
. . . Trilobite! . . . My deity!’