“This is the worst,” I told myself. “The absolute worst” I took a small shot of Flare to stop my hands from shaking. I spread my quilt over the body and sat down on the kitchen stool to think my way out of the situation.
There was no help for it I was going to have to throw Murphig overboard. I couldn’t hide him anywhere safely, and there was no sense in leaving him on board with the mark of murder on his side. It was far easier to dump him, so that he could join Calothrick as another mystery of the deep. The double disappearance was not a happy solution to my problem, but it was the safest and amplest.
Once I had made up my mind I saw no point in stalling. I took the quilt off, making sure it hadn’t touched the small puddle of blood. Then I heaved the body over one shoulder and climbed ponderously up the stairs. I opened the hatch and looked out I saw nothing suspicious, so I reeled slowly toward the port rail. I was about to dump him when I thought that the splash might possibly be loud enough to attract attention. It wasn’t likely, but I lowered him quietly to the deck and got ready to slide him out head first under the railing.
I heard heavy footsteps. A lantern flared up by the captain’s hatch. I froze, but it was too late; he had been watching me.
“What have we here?” the captain said.
Chapter 14
Desperandum Conducts an Experiment
I didn’t say anything. Desperandum stooped to peel back Murphig’s eyelid with one thick thumb. He brought his lantern close to the dead man’s face and studied the eye for a moment. Then he straightened up.
“Syncophine overdose,” he said, with a sort of morbid satisfaction. “Written all over his face. Did you murder him, Newhouse?”
I pried my mask slightly away from my face, just enough to make my voice audible. “No,” I said, too stunned to dissemble. “He drank too much of it He was upset because he just killed Calothrick.”
“For death’s sake,” Desperandum said, sounding more annoyed than shocked. “What a stupid, reckless act Well, Newhouse? Don’t just sit there like a lump of suet. Explain yourself.”
“Well” I said.
“Don’t bother to lie. I know you much better than you think I do. I know all about Flare—do they still call it that? I know about the still in the kitchen, too. And Calothrick’s addiction was obvious, at least to an initiate.”
I was red-handed and we both knew it, so I said quite frankly, “They got into a fight over Flare. Calothrick stabbed him, but Murphig threw him overboard and the sharks got him. I saw it and offered to help him hide the murder so the Flare thing could stay under cover. But Murphig drank too much Flare and died, and now I have to throw him overboard or be found out It’s not honest, but it’s easiest, Captain.”
Desperandum molted it over. “It’s a dirty shame about Murphig. He could have been very useful to me. Now I’ll have to find a replacement for him.”
There was a weighty silence. The implication of his statement was obvious.
“What do you want me to do?” I said.
“No conditions,” Desperandum said flintily, quite secure in his power. “Are you willing to take his place?”
“Is it honorable?”
Desperandum chuckled in quiet contempt. “By your standards, you mean? Yes. As honorable as anything you’ve ever done. Now, yes or no?”
“This is absurd! I want to know what—” The captain’s expression changed, and just as quickly I said, “I’ll do it. Yes.”
His cry of alarm was cut off before it was ever uttered, and a bemused expression crossed his face for a few rapid heartbeats. Then Desperandum said, “Very well then, over he goes,” and we shoved Murphig under the railing.
The gnashing of the sharks was half-muffled in the roiling dust. Desperandum spoke with loathing. “Death, I hate those monsters. Damn their teeth! But we can’t let hate stop progress, can we? I’m going back to bed—as soon as I finish looking over the craft, that is.”
“Captain, now that I’ve agreed—”
“No more, Newhouse. Pull your mask on tight; do you want to ruin your lungs?”
“But I only—”
“Go to sleep. And try to remember you’re an innocent man.” Desperandum turned off his lantern and thumped off into the darkness.
I went below. My lungs burned, and sleep was slow in coming.
I was up at dawn for breakfast. The two men were missed at mess. There was a perfunctory search of the vessel, and hypocritical displays of deep concern from the captain and myself. Desperandum amazed me; his performance was so authentic that it seemed to hint at a split personality—no uncommon occurrence In a man of his age.
The situation could have been much worse; the two missing men had not been popular. No one cared for Murphig much; his mannerisms were peculiar, and he had come from the wrong social class for a sailor. Calothrick was even less liked; he was a cipher, a sinner, and an off-worlder to boot. In fact, many of the crew seemed to regret that Dalusa had not vanished as well; they had always despised her as a parody of womanhood. No doubt the sailors were profoundly disturbed by the “accident,” as it came to be called, but they didn’t talk about it much. They didn’t talk about anything much.
Desperandum’s official theory was that they had fought and fallen overboard, and everyone paid lip service to this idea.
The anxiety caused by the mishap may have accounted for the crew’s feverish energy that day. Desperandum soon had them working on the whale. They seemed inspired by the captain’s unflagging vitality and they worked like maniacs on this incomprehensible task.
The methodical nature of the process showed the long thought behind it. First the whale was completely hollowed out and its insides cleansed and salted to prevent decay. Its gullet was cleaned out and plugged. Its eyes were dug out with harpoons and replaced with foot-thick lenses of transparent plastic coated with a clear, slippery substance that would retard dust abrasion … for a while, at least.
While this was being done Desperandum went into the hold and unlocked his hidden bulkhead. The engine, the tank of oxygen, the tub of glue, and the batteries were all dragged onto the deck.
Desperandum hauled the engine into the body cavity of the whale. Three men bored a long hole inside the whale lengthwise through the tail of the monster. The blacksmiths forged a long propeller shaft for Desperandum, and they thrust it through the hole. While the blacksmiths welded on the propeller Desperandum attached the batteries and started it up. The propeller whirred like a buzz saw.
Satisfied, Desperandum began work on the fins. They were attached to long iron levers inside the animal. The crew members were hardly able to budge them, but Desperandum’s double-gravity strength allowed him to wiggle them almost as well as the whale.
Desperandum painted all the outside seals with glue, making them absolutely airtight. He had some problems with the propeller shaft, and the friction would soon wear away even the stout plastic washers and gaskets. But he seemed satisfied.
As we worked together on the day’s last meal, Dalusa and I were both remote and uneasy. She had to step aside from the tiny droplets of grease as I fried some meat, and she spoke in her momentary idleness.
“What is he doing, John? What is the captain doing?”
“Dalusa,” I said, “I couldn’t believe it at first, but its obvious by now that the damned thing’s a submarine,” and I explained to her the nature of submarines.
“To go beneath the surface? Will he use it?”
“He’s been thinking about it a long time,” I said, “and I think he’s going to ask me to go with him. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”
“You? Both of you?”
“I think so.” I said with false cheerfulness. ‘
“But John, why?” she said, alarmed.
I answered offhandedly, “Someone has to take care of the old fellow, don’t you agree? He’s too careless. Why not me? I understand him, and I’m not afraid.”
“But John, it could be dangerous.”
“Oh,
certainly,” I said. “I wouldn’t have done it myself. But the captain has his heart set on it, and I have an obligation to go if he asks.”
“But you might be killed, John! What then?”
“It’s never happened before,” I said, but the utter blankness of Dalusa’s response showed that my wit had been lost in translation. “It’s a little risky,” I said, “but I’m a resourceful sort—more so than the captain thinks.”
“Oh, John, don’t go! The thing that took the crewman last night still might be waiting. Tell the captain to not go!”
“What ‘thing that took the crewmen?’ Dalusa, don’t be absurd. They fell overboard. There’s nothing waiting down there.” I regretted the words as soon as they were spoken—they struck a chill into me. Dalusa seemed to perk up, though.
“I don’t understand mankind,” she said. “But this is human, yes? To help someone who needs you, even if it’s dangerous—even if it hurts?”
“Yes.” I said, nodding sagely. “That’s part of it.”
“Then, John, good! I can do that. I’m not afraid, either. Some day I will do that, too, and you can be proud of me—like I’m proud of you, John.”
“All right, sweetheart,” I said. I sniffed. “I think your pastry’s burning,” I said, and after that I saw to it that we talked of other things.
That night Desperandum called me into his cabin.
“This is it, Newhouse!” he told me excitedly. “I’m going down to see it with my own eyes! I want firsthand contact with the data!”
“That’s wonderful, Captain,” I said. “A remarkable feat of engineering. It’s hollow, though. How will you get it to sink?”
“The crew is storing ballast in it this very minute.”
“Then how will you get back to the surface?”
“Easily. Just like flying an airplane. It’s also heavier than the medium that supports it, you see? And I have a powerful engine.”
“Then how will you get out?”
“I have my axe on board. I’ll rendezvous with the Lunglance and cut my way out in a matter of seconds.”
“And the sharks, Captain?”
“They can’t follow me into the depths. I’ve examined their metabolisms; they’re not built for it. This whale is built for better things than they.”
“How will you breathe?”
“I have my oxygen mask!” the captain shouted. “I have it all planned!”
“It’s an amazing piece of work, Captain,” I told him soothingly.
Desperandum looked at me sharply. He got up from his worktable and went to the cabin door. He opened it quickly and looked out, but there was no one there. He shut the door and bolted it.
“I’m glad-to see you show so much enthusiasm for the venture,” he said. “Because I want you to come with me.”
I had expected this and I made a determined effort to talk my way out of it. “Captain, sir,” I said, “who financed this expedition? Who worked tirelessly to promote it? Who chose the experiments, carried them out, recorded them? Who made a lasting contribution to human knowledge, gave new insights into the ecology of an entire planet? It was you. My contributions were minimal, not worth mentioning. No, Captain; you honor me too much, you flatter me beyond my worth. What would they say of me? That my reputation was made at the expense of a better man. I’m just a ship’s cook, a wanderer far from home, but I have too much pride to sink to such a thing.” Aghast at my unconscious pun, I hurried on. “The glory should all be yours, Captain. It belongs not to me, but to Nils Desperandum.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the Captain said slowly. “Desperandum’s just a dustmask of a name. The real credit belongs to me—Ericald Svobold.”
I was stunned. “You’re Svobold? The discoverer of—that is—”
“Syncophine, that’s right,” the captain said mercilessly. “Oh, I gave up using Flare years ago, but I can still recognize a user.”
There was silence. I laughed, rather shrilly. “It’s ironic, Captain. You know, you’ve been my idol for years. Why, I’ve drunk and dropped to your memory a hundred times. But if the legends are right, why, you must be over four hundred years—”
“Let’s not get into that,” the captain said. “Let’s stick to the here and now. When you get to be my age you’ll find that’s best. Now, I don’t know how or why you introduced Murphig to syncophine. I don’t know how or why your henchman and my sharpest crewman both died in a single night. Your guilt or innocence is not my concern. But there’s no way out for you now, Newhouse. You might as well stop squirming. You know you’re caught. I can tell it just by looking at your face. I’m old, all right, but not in my dotage. Oh no. It doesn’t happen like that nowadays, not to us galactics. We only get sharper and sharper—God only knows how intolerably sharp we can become. If you could see the things I see for just one day—but that’s beside the point.
“I need you, Newhouse. I need a witness. I would have taken Murphig, you see. He was the only man among the crew, the only Nullaquan who could have understood the incredible revelations we’re going to find down there. The rest of these woodenheads—they don’t even have the saving grace of curiosity that Murphig had. So that leaves you, sir.”
“But it’s not so, Captain,” I said. “I’m hardly your most reliable witness. I’m a vagrant. And, yes, I use drugs. You need a solid, down-to-earth sort. First mate Flack for instance.”
“Flack has a wife and children,” the captain said chillingly. “And he doesn’t have half your mental agility. You know, I could almost admire you, Newhouse. I can understand your corrupting Murphig—and liquidating Calothrick, who was a jackal anyway—but I can’t understand your leading on Dalusa, that poor tormented creature. That was a vicious act. And I’m offering you a chance to purify yourself, to do something selfless for once. Think of it, Newhouse. Don’t you need this as much as I do?”
“You’re mistaken,” I said. “I love Dalusa. When this is over I’m going to take her away—someplace where we can live free from death and madness.”
Desperandum looked at me closely for over a minute. Finally he said, “You do love her, don’t you? You’re in even worse trouble than I thought.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said. “Captain—Captain Svobold—if the legends are true, you’re a man of honor. I still love life, but I’ll court death with you if I must. But I want your word that after this there will be no more threats, spoken or unspoken.”
“You have my word,” Desperandum said. He extended his hand. I shook it, with the whimsical feeling of a nightmare.
Then I secured my mask and went up on deck. To starboard, the men were still working on the whale. I went down to the kitchen to sleep.
Next morning, Desperandum was eager to be under way. There was barely time for a brief, tearful farewell to Dalusa before he called me to his cabin. From there, the captain and I walked across the deck toward our odd vehicle with all the dignity we could muster. Through some atavistic social instinct I was still putting a good face on matters, and the captain was the gentleman scientist to the end. Calmly, he shook the hands of his three mates, making them wince. Knowing no better, I shook them too.
“Are you really going down there, Cookie?” Grent asked me as he shook my hand. I nodded. I was already regretting that Grent’s voice would be one of my last memories.
“Hope you’re back in time for supper,” he said. I nodded again, unable to reply because of the mask. I might have denounced the captain otherwise, shouted: “He’s crazy, don’t you see? He has to be restrained for his own good!” But it wouldn’t have worked. The captain would have seen to it that my life was ruined; it would have hurt Dalusa as well.
The captain waved formally to the crew, then ruined the dignity of his exit by clumsily forcing his huge bulk through the ‘slash in the whale’s side. “Greasy luck, Captain!” Flack called out as I followed him.
Following their captain’s orders, the crew securely glued a great doubled sheet of w
haleskin over our entanceway. It grew dark at once inside our musty, eviscerated craft. Soon my eyes adjusted to the dim sunlight pouring through the animal’s goggling eye plugs. Desperandum—somehow I could not get used to thinking of him as Svobold—calmly took the ends of the iron fin-levers in his meaty hands.
“I’ll navigate for now, Newhouse,” he said kindly, giving the fins an experimental wiggle. “You go up for’ard to the portholes and keep the lookout. ’Ware the ballast now.”
My eyes had adjusted fully now and everything took on a hallucinatory clarity as I picked my way forward through the heaped-up “ballast.” It was an incredible hodgepodge of heavy, miscellaneous jetsam: chunks of pipe, tight-wound bales of wire, bolt buckets, bundles of welding rods, metal boxes heaped with spare parts for the meat grinders, the oven, the recycler, neatly spooled miles of ceramic cable (it amazed me to see yet more of this particular item; Death knows where he kept it all), spare shafts and hafts for harpoons, flensing spades and axes, Desperandum’s own mighty axe, and crates containing stacked specimen jars, each one brim-full with murky, yellowish fluid. The whole mess was haphazardly bound together with an a-geometrical webwork of cable, stringing with a loony haphazardness from junk to chunk. As I picked my way forward, noting the neat sailor’s knots that bound everything, the floor moved and I pitched forward, striking the plug in the monster’s tiny gullet a solid blow with my head.
The crew had not wasted time. I could see their operations through the port plug as they calmly turned the pulleys and cranks that governed the hoists.
As soon as our craft began to lift free there was an ominous series of sinewy creaks, pops and snaps as the inertia tugged the mummified muscle and bone. The thick, leathery belly flesh of the floor bowed noticeably under the weight of the ballast, and the bone-strutted walls leaned inward a little with the groany reluctance of rigor mortis.
Involution Ocean Page 15