The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) (24 page)

‘Ram her tail again. We’ll try to drop the hooks on to her poopdeck. I wish we had a throwing crane, but we might be able to catch hold of something.’

Arnold Seventeen wrinkled his Harvester’s upper lip, raising the stepladder higher. On impact, he closed the maw, flipping the grapnels into
Rorqual
’s aft hatch. The macramé tightened and stretched. He played out a hundred yards of cable, allowing his own prow to swing off to port. As he reeled in the cable,
Rorqual
fishtailed, struggled, and continued her headlong flight, pressing her face into the thundering wall of water at her bow. Wide curtains of spray arched up and around her. One of her faithful Nebish crew suited up and carried a pair of bolt-cutters out on the foam-flecked deck. He began to gnaw at the macramé, but a fusillade of arrows brought him down. The rest of her crew donned life-jackets and stood obediently at their posts. Pursuit One came alongside showering small grapple lines. Catwalks were unfolded to bridge the gap over the hissing dancing spray. Bowmen sent a few test arrows into the empty decks. No defenders appeared.

‘Board!’ shouted Arnold Twenty. He led the first wave of Hunters. They swarmed over
Rorqual
’s skin, peering down hatches and tightening the grapple lines. A second wave charged across and stormed into the empty control cabin. Longbows were stationed at elevators and hatches. No one ventured below – knowing how awkward the bows would be at close quarters. ‘The ship is ours,’ announced Arnold Seventeen. ‘The control cabin is empty. Captain ARNOLD has left his post.’

‘Stop engines,’ said Drum.

Rorqual
continued to writhe and churn water, wrenching at her bonds. A few short cables snapped, but more lines were quickly added to the imprisoning cocoon.

‘Put a crew in her control cabin and order her back to the Shipyards.’

Arnold Seventeen put his face against the captive’s main view-screen and shouted: ‘I am your captain. You will obey.’

‘ARNOLD is my captain,’ said the ship.

The squad of Hunters studied the hatches nervously, fearing ambush from below.

‘She refused to obey.’

‘Splice her,’ ordered Drum. ‘Lift her deck plates and piggyback her main neural trunk.’

Electrotecks tooled up for their invasion of the Harvester’s motor nerves. Spools were rolled across catwalks. Heavy plate-cutters were wheeled up
Rorqual
’s hump.

ARNOLD and Larry worked in the dark.

‘What’s that amber light for?’ asked Larry.

‘She’s worried about something,’ said the giant.

‘Help me with this remote unite. I can’t get it hooked up. What happened to this junction box?’

ARNOLD glanced at the jumble of wire under the yellow warning light. ‘Oh that’s where I added her new lingual panels. Some of the colour coding isn’t standard. Let me do it. I think I remember how I did it.’ The warrior momentarily forgot about the enemy as he busied himself with the complex neurocircuitry. One by one the remote lights came on, casting multicoloured shadows on his fierce cheekbones. The screen flickered to life with crowded images from worried deck optics. The occupying forces were very busy.

‘They damage my ship!’ exclaimed the giant. ‘Let me kill them.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Larry. The bundles of nerve wire were self-explanatory. ‘They are after shipbrain. Hurry, let’s get the manual override activated.’

The hump plates parted under the grinding molars of the Cutting Meck. ‘We’re in!’ shouted Arnold Seventeen. He let the tecks down into the dark recesses. ‘Bring down the control nerves; we’ll cut into the spine right here.’ The Cutting Meck was lowered into the hole.

Drum waited impatiently. It was taking longer than he expected. ‘What is the delay?’

One of
Rorqual
’s deck cranes twitched. Its boom moved slowly towards the hump.

Arnold Seventeen poked his head up. ‘Hand me the heavy tool kit. We’re inside the canal, but we’ve hit some pretty thick rust scales. We’ll be ready in a minute.’

‘Hurry.’

A circle of Hunters surrounded the hump, watching the splicing. The boom of the R-1 crane cast an ominous shadow over the gathering.

‘Watch the crane!!’

Like the arm of a hungry praying mantis, the boom plucked a Hunter from the crowd and shredded him high in the air, showering the stunned Nebishes with rosewater blood. A hail of organs and small parts sent them running.

‘
Rorqual
killed a human?!’ exclaimed Drum.

‘That crane is on remote,’ explained CO. ‘Hurry with the splicing.’

‘We’re piggybacked, but she doesn’t answer to command,’ said Arnold Seventeen. ‘I’m going to try a shock treatment to clear her memory. Maybe a little Amnesia will get us the obedience we want.’

Arnold Twenty ran down the deck shouting: ‘There’s a killer operator on that first crane. Try to blind the ship by breaking up the optics.’

The Hunters plunked away at sensors with arrows. They used trophy knives on those within reach.
Rorqual
howled in pain. Decks trembled.

‘Stand clear!’ shouted the Hive speakers. ‘We’re going to short-circuit the spine.’ The auxiliary cable jumped, insulation sizzling, as the heavy jolt of electricity arced between the ships.

Arnold Seventeen stepped out of the control cabin. ‘The manual controls are still cold. She won’t respond. Everything in her main cord is nonfunctional. None of her neuroanatomy is standard!’

Larry swatted a Lesser Arnold away from a tender optic. He watched the Hunters receive their new orders to invade
Rorqual
’s companionways. ‘Here they come. You can fight now, ARNOLD.’

‘Finally!’ He picked up his axe.

‘I’ll control your encounters from here, using the ships sensors and motor controls. Doors will open when I say. Look, I just trapped a group of Hunters in our galley. There’s another bunch in the tool room.’

Door and hatches snapped open and closed, dividing up the attacking forces. ARNOLD crept down the corridor listening to Larry’s whispers.

‘There are two of them in the next compartment, soft Hunters. When I open the hatch, one will be three feet away on your left. He has his back to you. The other is behind the second row of bunks with his head in a foot-locker. His longbow is on the bedding. Get ready.’

Larry waited until the giant’s arm was cocked. A smile crossed the angular face. He triggered the door and ARNOLD’s axe caught the near Hunter in the back, opening the Closed-Environment suit and thorax. The far Hunter went for his bow, but the string was caught in a blanket. Two steps and the blade came up fast, scattering teeth and sinus tissues.

Arnold Twenty slipped away from the bloodied grapple and crawled under an inert aft crane. The poop sensor pole clicked and spied on him. He attacked it with his knife. The aft crane struck at him, a clumsy blow that tumbled him across the deck plates. When he tried to rise, his left hip made crunching sounds. The inept crane caught him and tossed him into the foaming turbulence that surrounded the two struggling ships.

Arnold Seventeen threw up his hands. ‘We can’t do it. With her flukes and cranes active she can hold us out here till next year. The few men who returned from her companionways say that there are neural and power cables running all over the halls down there. We’ll never gain control of that maze. There is no time to study it.’

‘Blast it! Kill it!’ said Drum. ‘Set a charge in the control cabin and destroy the forebrain. That should paralyze the motor units.’

The first sapper was stopped on the catwalk. His deadly satchel fell harmlessly into the sea. A mushroom of spray pocked the ship’s wake. The sonic concussion told
Rorqual
its force – a tenth of a closson.

‘Those satchels become armed when they leave their ship’s deck,’ warned
Rorqual
. ‘Stop them before they reach my brain.’

Larry extruded gill nets on the enemy decks and swept the next sapper into the sea. ARNOLD lifted a hatch cover and tossed a heavy length of chain into the legs of a sapper, breaking bones. The explosion splattered the Nebish around a charred hole in the decking. ARNOLD’s ears rang. He couldn’t hear the arrows strike his hatch.

Whoop! Whoop!

‘Now hear this,’ shouted Larry. ‘All crew. Watch for satchels. They are timed to go off several minutes after leaving the enemy ship. If you find one, toss it overboard. I want men at every hatch.’

Larry manually closed off all of
Rorqual
’s pores by hitting the storm-door switch. Three sappers ran for the cabin door. They set their charges against the outerwall. Operating the L-2 crane, Larry swept two into the sea. The third went off, knocking the door ajar. The fourth sapper dashed inside where the crane couldn’t reach him.

‘Damn!’ shouted Larry. ‘Get some men to the control cabin!’

Three more sappers started their dash from the Hive ship. The L-3 crane swatted at the catwalks. One charge fell between the ships, denting them at the water-line.

ARNOLD appeared at the damaged cabin door, carrying a satchel and his bloodied axe. He flipped the explosive on to the Hive ship, where it cleared the crowd from its decks.

‘
Rorqual!
Get your other cranes busy cutting his cocoon free. I’ll use L-3 and L-2.’

While Larry flailed away at the enemy ship with two cranes,
Rorqual
’s other six cranes busied themselves plucking away the imprisoning grapples. Four nervous crewmen appeared on the poopdeck and began clipping away at the macramé. L-3 swept enemy bowmen off the foredeck. A work crew of Electrotecks intercepted a sapper and disarmed the charge. One carried the Hive service on detonators – an instant expert.

‘We did it!’ Larry smiled. ‘The cocoon is parting and they are falling behind.’

ARNOLD grinned weakly from the stern as a shower of arrows fell short. He bent over slowly, absently cleaning up bits of debris. Repair crews appeared.

Iron Trilobite surfaced and climbed into his niche to share.

‘I watched the battle from under their keel. Their ship is equipped with an interceptor engine, but it has no brains,’ reported the little meck.

Larry watched the giant’s feeble movements after the adrenergic effects of battle wore off. ‘Manual! We should be able to capture them – with our cranes, and all the spirit our crew was starting to show. Try to get some rest, ARNOLD. I’ll dump the rest of our cargo and go after that Hunter ship. With all those Lesser Arnolds on board they must carry lots of bread. I’ll just set a couple of grapples into her hide and hold her for ransom. They lost a lot of men, but there must still be several hundred crew members.
Rorqual!
Go get them, girl.’

Drum chaired the emergency meeting. Stills of the battle sequences were passed around the table.

‘It is clear that the ARNOLD weakens. These reaction times are far below his best. Why couldn’t our Lesser Arnolds defeat him?’ asked Security.

Drum waved his arms – a gesture of futility. ‘He avoided our warriors – using cranes against them. And he wouldn’t even fight Hunters unless he had them trapped at close quarters.’

The CO added: ‘Strategy of that depth suggests he is learning fast in spite of his negative nitrogen balance – or – he had help.’

‘Who?’

‘There have been many fugitives from the Hive.’

Drum nodded. The lists would be long. Some were bound to survive. It was clear that cranes would be needed on the pursuit ships – big strong cranes.

The Committee was startled by Pursuit One’s siren.
Rorqual
had circled ahead and cut them off from shore. The Hive ship turned sharply, losing speed, and headed north.

‘Where did they get all that speed?’ asked Security.

‘Look at that water-line. They dumped their cargo.’

‘What do they want?’

The CO recorded the chase.
Rorqual
stayed in tracking mode. Each time the Hive ship turned,
Rorqual
travelled the hypotenuse and gained. Their speeds were very close, but it was clear that they were getting farther and farther away. There was no place to hide. When they made contact the outcome was predictable.
Rorqual
had cranes.

‘It appears that the Benthics are about to double the size of their navy,’ said CO.

Drum was puzzled by the meck’s extrapolation.

‘But we still have control. Isn’t there something we can do?’

‘We have seen what they can do with their cranes. Probabilities are small. Our ship is lost.’

Drum considered the possibilities. He would like to scuttle the vessel and surrender the crew. But if
Rorqual
could get a grapple and a foam-line into it, they would raise it eventually. He glanced around the circle of faces for help.

‘We don’t have much time,’ reminded Security.

‘I can’t do it,’ moaned Drum, placing his golden emblem on the table.

‘We’ll need a new chairman, then – and in less than an hour.’

Drum sighed and left the room. He saw Furlong in the corridor.

‘Enjoy your hot and cold Dispenser.’

‘Thank you,’ said Furlong, polishing his Aries.

ARNOLD leaned out the foreport and watched Pursuit One’s stern draw closer. Above him the forecranes were cocked with their coils of throwing-line.

‘We should have your bread by sundown.’ Larry smiled. A puff of smoke obscured the Hive ship. Larry’s mouth dropped. Three heartbeats later he heard the thunder-like crackle. ‘Those charges must have been set by experts. She’s breaking up already.’ Larry shuffled his little torso up against the port and leaned against the frame. ‘I never dreamt the Hive would go to such lengths to keep your bread away. Why do you smile? Don’t you realize how close to death you are?’

ARNOLD just shrugged: ‘I can’t be too far gone if the Hive fears me enough to kill off an entire crew rather than allow a few loaves to fall into my hands.’

Larry nodded.

They cruised through the wreckage. The water was dotted with bodies in life-jackets – shock victims. Sensors showed several irregular masses of wreckage drifting towards the bottom. Trilobite left his niche in
Rorqual
’s hull and dived to examine the debris.

‘Search for the ship’s stores,’ said Larry.