The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) (23 page)

The speck on the distant horizon was clearly the shape of a hump-back whale. Larry held the disc rim with both hands as they began to skip across the water. His calloused torso bounced, bruising a rib.

‘So that’s your deity.’

‘Yes.’

‘But who is that big fellow on the nose of the ship?’

‘Must be one of the crew. There are about two hundred Hive Citizens on board.’

‘Is it safe to approach her?’

‘Safe?! This is my deity. She loves you! She loves all men.’

ARNOLD welcomed them aboard and questioned them about the Benthics. Larry eyed the muscular giant thoughtfully.

‘You speak of White Belly. She is daughter of Big Har, my friend from Tweenwalls. I don’t understand how you – a captain – can turn your back on the Hive. Is it simply your attraction to this young female?’ Larry could understand mating instinct, but he also had some idea how thoroughly the Hive selected and trained its ranking castes.

ARNOLD just mumbled: ‘She is my hen.’ He stood up and limped out of the cabin.

Larry swung his torso up on to the chart table and leaned out the foreport. He saw the captain alone on the deck. The sea darkened. The ship spoke to Larry.

‘He is slain.’

Larry watched the giant as
Rorqual
spoke of their last days.

‘Sounds like the bends. But he seems to be recovering. I’m sorry about that amino-acid thing – a block, you say. I don’t know if I can be of any help, but if you print out what you know I’ll look it over. It seems to me that there should be some way to fix him up with a fifteen-amino-acid bread, or chowder, or something. If the White Meck can follow his serum amino-acid levels it should also be able to check the level in a soup.’

Larry’s attempts at setting up a continuous-flow chromatography process were only partially successful. The giant remained in negative nitrogen balance, weakening, losing bulk.

‘ARNOLD, you are slain,’ said Larry. ‘Perhaps it would be better to return to the Hive – pick up a load of bread – and then continue this search.’

‘The Hive is my enemy. Take me to my speckled hen.’

Larry nodded. ‘It isn’t far – a two-day trip at most. Try to rest while I go over these ultraviolet absorption spectra again. If the ion exchange chromatography doesn’t work pretty soon, we’ll set up a gas-liquid process. Trilobite can give
Rorqual
the coordinates of White Belly’s summer dome.’

Rorqual
’s course was straight. She saw no need for evasive action. Twenty-four hours after she disappeared over the horizon, a second ship emerged from the sup. It resembled
Rorqual
in size and shape, riding high and lacking many of the deck sensors. Pursuit One passed over the Benthics’ abandoned reef and tracked
Rorqual
.

‘Bring back the Harvester and its ARNOLD,’ said Drum. ‘Protect our investment.’

Larry and Trilobite updated
Rorqual
on the new patterns of Benthic migrations.

‘They follow the bloom of the plankton, then into the estuaries for oyster, blue crab, and flounder; they are taking their place in the developing marine food web.’

‘They are very grateful to you.’

Rorqual
listened to Trilobite’s version of the prayers before the meteor shower.

‘That wasn’t my voice,’ said the ship. ‘I was awakened by the shower, true: but my long ear was out. I haven’t been able to talk with you till now.’

‘Then who . . . ?’

Larry smiled. ‘It was obviously just another meck. Deities don’t limit themselves to wavelengths. I’m sure we’ll find that one of the pre-Hive mecks has survived until now – as
Rorqual
has. The conversation was not unusual for the relationship between a Greater Meck and its lesser Servomeck.’

‘But the biota did return!’ said
Rorqual
.

Larry just waved his hand. ‘I know – a very balanced food chain. Our ancestors may have built time-release zoos when they saw what was killing off the Earth species. Trilobite’s prayer may have triggered a release mechanism. A miracle, but probably one with a logical explanation.’

‘A time-release zoo?’ said
Rorqual
. ‘I don’t think I have a record of anything along those lines.’

Larry just stared at the horizon, a blue line with a flat grey cloud gathering. ‘I’m sure that it was something like that. The species that reappeared were so ordinary – so unchanged from my day. They were so easy to classify – same species, same variety. I would expect a true miracle to have some clues in it to the existence of a Greater Deity – like a few bizarre creatures new to our ecosystem.’

‘But you would have a logical explanation for that too . . .’

‘What?’

‘Mutations brought on by whatever wiped out Earth biota. That might be expected. If the creatures were truly alien you could postulate that we were visited by colonists – so, too, might we be on the receiving end of an Implant. There goes your deity again.’

Larry shrugged. ‘It is hard to find a real miracle.’

‘I wonder,’ said
Rorqual
. ‘This return of biota needs more investigation. I am curious.’

Listener rose out of the abyss and found Opal and her family hiding in one of the distant segments of the torn undersea conduit. Their raft contained no personal items, indicating the nature of their rapid unexpected flight.

‘The Hive has returned to the sea!’ exclaimed Opal. ‘The Leviathan brings Hunters that can follow us into our domes.’

‘Impossible!’

Opal and White Belly described ARNOLD’s descent with helmet and spear. Listener nodded.

‘As with all Hive Hunters, this one can be dangerous when he is attached to his machine. I will consult the Deep Cult. Spread the word to avoid the Hunter until I return. If you are attacked, try to cut his hose.’

Listener swam down into the depths. He paused briefly in level-eight and level-ten umbrellas to take on oxygen and dump carbon dioxide. But he moved on quickly before his nitrogen level rose. The domes took on a different configuration below level ten. Each was topped by a window sphere. He surfaced in the lower dome and hurried up the Spiral. sending only enough time in the thick air to operate the double doors. The sphere air was thin, and changed the pitch of his voice. He rested, allowing excess nitrogen to diffuse from his tissues. The windows gave him a circular view of the olive-drab surroundings – seaweed forest with its slow, silent fish shadows. The haze of very small plankton obscured his next stop – nearly half a mile away. It had been visible in earlier years, but the waters were no longer sterile. He swam leisurely, following familiar landmarks, arriving at the dome in twelve minutes. Two air pockets later, he again climbed into a sphere to unload nitrogen.

Three forms approached – humanoid with wide lacy wings – angels of the Deep Cult. They fluttered slowly along the bottom, feeding from a large shell, a bivalve which they passed around. They spoke with hand gestures. Lister signalled with a knock on the window. Three wrinkled faces turned towards him. Two wore water-filled mouthpieces. The third let his mouthpiece fall as he munched daintily on white meat. Dropping the bivalve, they entered the sphere. Their fluid-filled wings rose and fell with respirations. Pulmonary fluids moved from lungs to wing veins and back again.

Listener helped the last one up the ladder and closed the hatch. They were wrinkled and old. In water their movements were smooth, almost agile; but in air they were arthritic old men again.

‘The Hive controls the Leviathan,’ said Listener. ‘Hunters sail and dive into the sea. They invade our home domes.’

One old angel locked his mouthpiece and coughed foam. ‘Describe these Hunters who invade the waters.’

Listener repeated the various stories he had collected. The elders went into a huddle, fingers flying.

‘This ARNOLD creature is well known to us. It is not surprising that the Hive should send it into the water. We should be able to defeat it while it breathes through a length of tubing and wears a helmet. Tell your people of the shelf that the Deep Cult will hunt down the ARNOLD.’

Listener nodded. The angel primed his oxygen bottle with clumsy arthritic fingers. Bubbled distended wing veins. Holding the mouthpiece between his gums, he inhaled foam. Wings sagged as chest expanded. Listener assisted the old men down the ladder and watched them swim off. He smiled. The Deep Cult could handle ARNOLD.

Rorqual Maru
wallowed low, her hold bulging with digesting plankton. Alert! Her second pair of cranes thrust their sensors high, sniffing and scanning. A Hive vessel approached. Larry glanced at the screen and called the captain.

‘They are after us!’

ARNOLD studied the silhouette. ‘She’s riding high – light and fast. We can’t outrun her.’ He picked up his axe. ‘We’ll stand and fight.’

Larry watched the giant heft his weapon. The weeks of negative nitrogen balance sapped his strength. The blade was sluggish and heavy.

‘Open a channel to that ship,’ he said.

ARNOLD was annoyed. ‘Talk won’t solve anything. That is an arm of the damned Hive out there.’

The little hemihuman shuffled his torso around on the chart table and stared at the screen. A Hunter’s Pelger-Huet helmet appeared.

‘Yes? Who is calling?’ asked the Nebish.

‘Keep our optic channels closed,’ whispered Larry. ‘Hello! Why do you follow us?’

‘We are under orders to take you back.’

‘BACK OFF!!’ shouted ARNOLD, riled to the point of hearing ‘cluck, cluck’ in his subconscious.

The Hunter confidently opened other sending channels, showing his troops: Lesser Arnolds, bowmen, and squads of Hive Security with their tanglefoot nets. ‘Our warriors are younger and stronger than your sick ARNOLD. You must return willingly – or die!’

Larry studied the warrior’s face. Chapel conditioning left no room for the death concept. His leptosoul had come down through the generations as a consecutive winner of every contest. He faced the conflict with blind optimism, but Larry was more practical. He needed time to think.

‘Show them your stern,’ he ordered the ship. ‘And dump your cargo. What role can you and your cranes play in the actual battle?’

Rorqual
spoke didactically: ‘Play no active role in any procedure that might injure a hominid.’

Larry suspected as much. The ship’s crew of Citizens would be of little use; they were psychologically unfit for hand-to-hand combat. They were nervous on deck in calm weather. Any excitement would paralyze them.

‘When do we fight?’ grumbled the giant.

‘Later. Bring your axe.
Rorqual
, will you continue to obey ARNOLD after he leaves your control room – even if the Hive Arnolds board you and give you direct vocal commands?’

‘ARNOLD is my captain,’ said the ship. ‘As long as I feel his bare feet I will obey no other.’

Larry picked up a remote unit. The screen started its countdown for contact with the Hive ships.

‘Come on, show me where I can plug this in below decks. How do the manual overrides work?’

ARNOLD explained that the ship could operate drive units and all sensors while turning over one or more motor units to a human operator. The human would not be limited by any Prime Directive. Larry nodded and smiled. They entered a dark crawlway between decks.

Pursuit One carried three of the Lesser Arnolds fresh from the Rolling Mills. They were young and eager – just beginning to notice hard forearm muscle from the heavy work. None had been to Chapel for anything beyond ‘loyalty conditioning’. Arnold Seventeen was senior officer; Eighteen and Twenty would lead the assault on
Rorqual
’s cyber components and engines. (Nineteen died of hypoglycaemia during the Chapel hunter sequence.)

Seventeen felt nauseated before battle. Sweat dampened his palms and armpits. ‘Contact in one hour thirty-seven minutes,’ his voice barked over the deck speakers. ‘Stay alert. The Greater ARNOLD has an axe and is battle-conditioned. He probably cannot be defeated in hand-to-hand combat – even with his loss of Hive bread. Stay away from him. Let the bowmen get a clear shot.’

Nervous squads of short Nebish Hunters put on their Closed-Environment suits. The bug-eyed goggles were black – on step-down. They huddled together, fumbling with longbows and arrows. Arnold Twenty towered over them, smiling. ‘Get those gloves on.’ He led them out into the wind and glare of the foredeck. ‘You’ll get the first shots from here,’ he shouted. The prow hissed through dark waves. He pulled off his shirt to enjoy the refreshing salt spray. As they gained on the
Rorqual
he shielded his eyes with his hands and squinted at the sunny decks. ‘She looks different without her hump trees. There is no place to hide now.’

Another platoon of soft crew climbed into their thick insulated suits in the shade of the freeboard deck. Arnold Eighteen gave them their orders: ‘When we draw alongside you will be ordered topside to throw grapples. Continue throwing until all are hooked and set. Then come the catwalks. Eight men each. I want them open and anchored as quickly as possible. Understand?’

They nodded. Apprehension stilled their collective murmur as a new sound was added to the throb of the ship’s engines. A gurgle under the hull told them that they were entering
Rorqual
’s turbulence.

Arnold Seventeen froze at the helm. Pursuit One tracked down
Rorqual
’s wake and nudged her stern sharply. ‘Halt!’ shouted the loudspeakers. Veering to port she tried to pull up alongside, but
Rorqual
fishtailed, breaking a few grapple lines, and swerved to starboard showing them her stern again.

‘The grapples aren’t holding.’

‘Use the macramé lines from your stern winch,’ advised Drum. He sat with his Committee, taking a hot lunch while the White Meck took his vectorcardiogram.

A complex head was attached to the cable-extrusion nozzle. The long-chain molecules underwent cross-linking and crystallization before spinnerettes lock-tied the filaments into a flat, woven cable. It grew slowly, resembling an angry, wrestling railroad track as the work crews lined up and pulled it down the deck from stern to bow. The throwing end was armed with five-fluked grapnels and propped high on a stepladder balanced at the fore rail.