The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) (35 page)

‘I spoke to the Acolyte,’ he said as he entered. She served the mush; he ate in silence.

‘What bothers you?’ she asked.

‘The Godwhale.’

‘Can’t she help us?’

‘Oh, our prayers will be answered, only . . .’ His voice broke off. ‘Our parents trust the deity – don’t they?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘The Godwhale showed them this island and helped them get started here. The goats and grain are from our deity. There were fruit trees once, but the salt air killed them. You can still see the trunks.’

‘I believe in her,’ he said, ‘not because she is our father’s deity. I am very weak in faith. I believe in her because of her great strength and wisdom. She is too large to fit into our lagoon, and yet she sends her messengers over the horizon to talk with us. Her choice of food has been right for us – plants and animals that thrive and feed us. But I’m afraid this time.’

‘Why, husband?’

‘She wants a sacrifice.’

‘Why, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before. Not on our island. There have been rumours . . . What kind of sacrifice? Goats? Chickens?’

‘You,’ he said. ‘The Godwhale wants my young bride . . .’

She remained silent.

The young Chief stood up, waving his arms. ‘Oh, I objected at first. Then the Acolyte explained that you would be unharmed. In fact, you’d be returned in a year – and you’d no longer be barren!’

Iris frowned. ‘It is not good for a chief to be childless. You must take another wife. I will be your second.’

‘Perhaps, said Nine Fingers, ‘but there is plenty of time for that later. Right now we must decide if we are to hang the flags or not.’

She stood and looked out the window. The wide lagoon was quiet. Empty huts dotted the beach.

‘I remember when we numbered nearly a hundred,’ she said softly. ‘Times were happier then. I want to do what to do what I can to bring those days back.’

He nodded. ‘It is what our parents would have done. This is a good island. With a little help from our deity it will be fruitful again.’

The storms hit as expected, scattering building materials and uprooting trees. Caves in the chalk cliff protected the humans and their little pens of domestic animals. Between storms they foraged in the sun and collected rainwater. Afterwards, the flags went up and Iris prepared herself for her wedding with the Godwhale.

The men carried the sacrificial raft to the beach and covered it with flowers. Iris sat among the petals with her foaming mug. A cask was passed around. A low, dark silhouette appeared on the horizon.

‘There she is!’ shouted Nine Fingers. He glanced back to make certain the flags were unfurled, then he sat down to watch. The whale-shape cruised past the beach leaving a trail of steaming biscuits, each a half ton in size.

‘Godbiscuits!’ shouted the natives, running into the surf. Canoes were launched to guide the packed plankton to shore. They busied themselves breaking open the huge bales. Inside they found an assortment of larger marine food items – iced fish, mussels, and crustaceans. The prevailing winds continued to carry the godbiscuits into the surf. Baskets and pots were filled – a giant harvest that would ensure adequate food supplies until the storm damage could be repaired. Runty pigs and scrawny chickens scampered through wet sand to feast on the leavings.

The natives quieted, waiting. Their god would leave the ‘flag gifts’ on her next pass – and pick up the maiden sacrifice on the third. They bowed their heads.

‘Naked savages on the leeward shore, Captain.’

‘What flags are up?’

‘Looks like seeds and small tools.’

‘Fine. Give them Seeds-For-Latitude and the usual mix of Homesteaders’ Home and Farm Tools. What fish do they take around here?’

‘Surfperch, rockfish, smelt, cottids, croakers, greenings, sharks, herring—’

‘Fine. I get the idea. Leave them the Miscellaneous Hooks package.’

‘ARNOLD? This is the atoll with the barren lagoon. We were going to open it at five degrees and one hundred eighty-five degrees to let the current bring in more food fish.’

‘Right! I don’t know what I’d do without you, Larry. OK. Take over. You know where to place the charges. Just make sure all those silly savages are on the beach at ninety-five degrees, picking up the goodies. I don’t want my deity getting a bad name.’

‘What’s the payment this time?’

‘Island census?’

‘Less than fifty.’

‘You know our policy. If they don’t ask for luxury items we just ask for a pair of breeding animals or some of their surplus food plants – seeds – anything we can dump on the next island.’

‘Ahem . . .’

‘Now what did I forget? Oh, Circle . . . Ring . . . Wedding ring? Now I remember. This is where we have the barren bride too. OK. Ask that she be served up on a raft with a spicy sauce of flowers. We’ll be around to swallow her up. And . . . ask that she be full of beer so she’ll relax. I don’t want her fainting when she sees the Godwhale’s shiny white teeth. I guess we’ll be having a guest on board for the Arctic trip – the bride from Ring Island – ought to be real educational for all of us. I hope you remember how to do a sterility workup.’

‘I’ve been on the tapes for a month.’

‘Good.’

‘They got your message. There she is. Pretty little thing, isn’t she? Not very frightened. What is that dazed look? She isn’t that drunk.’

‘I think it is called faith.’

‘Well, she’s in for a rude awakening. We’ll have her on
Rorqual
’s rakes in about eighteen minutes.’

Iris repeated her prayers as the whale bore down on her with its mouth open. The roar of water against the rakes became deafening. She squeezed her eyes shut. The arched palate swept over her, swallowing her trembling raft into darkness. A resilient grate caught her. She opened her eyes to see a satyr – half-goat and half-man – standing over her. He was looking down at her with an oddly gentle expression. Assuming that the mythical beast was there to cure her barrenness, she prostrated herself at the hooves. The raft was now her bed of flowers. She closed her eyes, waiting.

‘She seems badly frightened,’ said a gentle male voice. ‘Help me get her out of here.’

The giant that picked her up was coarse and brutish, with hard, calloused hands and a voice to match. Numbed by her elevated blood alcohol, she slept through the night on a heap of blankets in the laundry area. Dawn brought several of ARNOLD’s wives, who offered salty clam and tomato juice. They showed her to her new quarters under the poopdeck.

Centaur Larry visited her on the second morning. She wore a soft, brightly coloured kilt.

‘The wives told you who I am?’ he said.

‘Yes. You are the one who will cure my barrenness.’

‘I’ll do my best. Want me to show you around the ship?’

She nodded and took his arm; her knees were still a bit weak.

They circled the ship on the main and again on the freeboard. She saw ship organs; some did things to the catch, others did things to the crew. Her impression was one of intelligence and power – yet all of her contacts were with humans who seemed quite ordinary – gentle. It was hard to believe that
Rorqual
had had a successful career as a battleship.

‘This is our White Room. We have a Medimeck and a Mediteck who will assist me.’

She eyed him, puzzled.

‘They will help me cure your sterility problem – your inability to have children.’

‘Oh.’ She nodded.

‘The first battery of tests will be done on blood and some cells from your vaginal pool. The White Meck can handle that.’

She winced at the needle. The results flashed upon the screen.

‘Looks like you’re a female – ovulating – no disease – and no tumours. Fine! Now, the next examination will involve some optic records and X-rays of the uterus. Climb up here.’

‘Well . . .’ said Larry. ‘We’re in luck! I think we found the cause of your problem – blocked cervix. Hang on, this might hurt.’

Iris sat on the cot with a tear on her cheek.

‘Sorry,’ said the centaur. ‘But we found it and fixed it at one sitting. I’ll give you two weeks to heal that dilated cervix and you’ll be ready for your first pregnancy. Excited?’

She wiped away the tear silently.

‘Well, I’ll let you think it over. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the wives’ quarters.’

‘Who will sire my child?’ exclaimed Iris.

‘Captain ARNOLD,’ said Larry.

‘But I thought that you—’

‘I’m sorry, but as you must know – I’m part mechanical horse.’ He laughed. ‘All of the King’s embraces are fertile, as you can see from the poopdeck.’

‘King?’

‘That’s what we call him sometimes. He picked up the nickname during the war with the Hive. I think he’d conquer the world if it would stand up and fight.’

She seemed disappointed. ‘This is necessary?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Next year you must be a mother. The Godwhale has spoken.’

ARNOLD stepped into her cabin on his way down to the evening meal. He left her blinking and bewildered. She wandered out into the corridor. Hooves galloped up behind her.

‘Need a lift? Hop on,’ said Centaur Larry.

She mounted slowly, wrapping her arms and legs a little tighter than usual. He didn’t comment, just kept up his usual light-hearted banter. Her mood was deep blue through the meal. ARNOLD announced that they sailed to the Hive to trade a load of tuna for a moment of sharing. The giant warrior wandered among his wives, witty and playful, teasing before taking one off to his quarters.

Iris leaned on Larry, whispering: ‘Why her?’

‘She rubs herself with lemon.’

‘Lemon?’

‘Yes,’ explained Larry. ‘ARNOLD’s wives have their own hierarchy. Those with the most male children have the most authority. They decide among themselves who will wear the citrus. The rest is up to ARNOLD and his nose. Lemon peel is easy to detect when the aromatic oils are rubbed into warm erogenous zones – pleasant.’

Iris relaxed and smiled. Lemon seeds would be on her list of things to take home.

‘Want a ride home?’ asked the centaur.

Iris climbed on his meck back. Again he noticed a distinct hug. ‘Have you seen ARNOLD about your pregnancy? It’s time,’ he said.

‘I did. At least . . . I think I did.’

Larry smiled. ‘That’s the way it is with the Captain. Consider yourself a mother.’

She rested her forehead against his back as he loped down to her cabin.

Four motorized barges waited at Two Mile Reef. Their yellow-suited Nebish crews fidgeted nervously as Benthic children frolicked in the waves.

Rorqual
appeared on the western horizon. Centaur Larry scanned the barges with the long eye.

‘Our Hive friends don’t appear too happy about coming Outside.’

ARNOLD studied the sensor readings for a long time before answering. The back of his neck bristled. Everything read safe and green.

‘I don’t want the little bastards to be happy about anything,’ grunted the giant. ‘If I had my way, they’d starve. But
Rorqual
thinks she can learn something from that damned planet brain, so we’re buying time.’

‘Is it safe?’ asked Larry. ‘Isn’t it possible that the CO might gain control of our ship if they link brains?’

‘Trilobite doesn’t think so. He says that he tried it once – piggy-back. The link was weak, too weak for control, but strong enough for good data transmission.’

The first barge brimmed with ice chips and tuna. Nebishes started weighing anchor. ARNOLD shouted a curt order. ‘
Rorqual
, put a grapple on the bare. No one goes anywhere until we get our sharing. Have you got the linkage set up?’

‘Trilobite hasn’t reached the top of the cliff yet.’

‘OK. Start filling the second barge, but keep R-1 on the first one.’

The short, fat, thick-suited crew members of the Hive barge watched the powerful grapple nervously. Had they known how many of their number that grapple had killed, they couldn’t have remained on their feet. As it was, two did faint.

‘Linkage established,’ said the ship.

The festivities at Har Island dragged on into the night. Iris felt a little insecure with ARNOLD’s wives. Her contact with the giant had been brusque. His attitude towards her hadn’t changed: it was casual, distant. He was performing a service. Now she carried his child.

‘Have a guava?’ offered Opal.

Iris accepted the greenish-yellow fruit. It was about the size of an apple and tasted excellent.

‘Are you one of ARNOLD’s new wives?’

Iris lowered her eyes. ‘I am bride of the Godwhale for a year.’

‘Oh,’ said Opal in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘They’re taking a northern cruise this season. You’ll see a lot of ice.’

‘You’ve been there?’

‘No. I chatted with Trilobite. He’s down at the water-line now, sniffing around for bits of things left over by some ancient civilization. If you want to know the latest gossip, ask him. He’s always sharing
Rorqual
’s shipmind. Between them they know a lot.’

‘Why are we heading north?’

Opal shrugged. ‘They traded a good cargo of tuna for a chance to share with the Hive’s collective mind. I guess they found some clues to our deity, and they’re going to check them. I think it is just a good excuse to explore another Ocean. They get restless.’

Iris glanced at the crowd near the fire. ‘They?’

‘Those three!’ said Big Opal. ‘That horse’s half, Larry; ARNOLD; and my husband Har.’

‘Har is going?’

‘Yes, the silent gargoyle is always included whenever those other two go off on some harebrained adventure. Larry and Big Har were in the Hive together – Tweenwallers. Now that they watch for the deity, Har is quite excited. I think he is the only real believer.’

Iris studied Opal – still hard under the grey hair and wrinkles, a grandmother a dozen times over. The young girl took another guava from her hostess. ‘You have a nice island here.’

‘It’s going to be too quiet after the men are gone,’ said the older woman with a shrug. She stood up and circulated among her other guests.

Iris went to the beach for a lonely swim.

Several hours later Iron Trilobite approached the fire with a wet girl in tow – Iris, bride of Nine Fingers.