"Shoots pretty good, too," she said. "I used it to bang away at some croakers once. Didn't hit anything, of course."
"Uh-huh. I'll take it. How much?"
She'd let me steal it from her for fifty consols. I pilfered it for thirty-five, and I could see by her eyes that she was glad to get that. She even threw in a holster. I put the thing on, then slipped the gun into it. "Nice doing business with you…."
She smiled prettily. "Belle. Belle Shapiro. Hey, you're not going to walk around the ship with that thing, are you?"
"Why not?"
She shrugged. "No rule against it. Most people like to keep their hardware concealed, that's all."
"I'm a straightforward sort of person."
Her grin widened. "I think you are too. That makes two of us. Like to join me in a drink later? I'm about ready to close up shop."
"Love to. Belle, but I'm expected at the Captain's table, and something tells me a heavy evening lies ahead."
"Too bad. Well, some other time."
"You're sure there's no problem about wearing this?" I asked, taking the gun out and loading it with five shells, leaving the hammer over an empty chamber. I'd seen those old mopix too.
"No problem, though the Old Man has been threatening to start a policy of having all beam weapons checked at the desk. We've had a rash of fires lately. But it'd take too much time, and no one's been able to come up with a way to scan the luggage. Can't get the equipment."
As she spoke, a wild thought came into my head from parts unknown. "Belle, is there a pharmacy aboard?"
"No, not really. What do you need?"
"I don't know exactly. Something to keep me awake."
"Oh, I have plenty of high-altitude stuff." She went to another part of the store and brought back two big glass jars filled with pills of different colors and sizes. She popped the lid of one jar and began fingering through it. "Let's see… I think these little green ones are pretty good. You say you want to stay awake?"
"Yeah, very awake."
"Well, maybe these pink numbers." She bit her lip. "No, those are broad-spectrum antineoplasmics. I think." She looked at me. "Very awake… or extremely awake?"
"Like this," I said, making my eyes round and crazed.
She snickered. "That much? Wait, I might have something." She opened the other jar and dug her hand into the contents like a kid searching for just the right shade of jelly bean.
"Do you know what's in any of these?"
"Most of them," she said. "I used to keep a list, but I lost it. Here they are." She pulled out one big choker of a horsepill, bright purple in color. "Now, I don't know what's in this one, but it's some kind of antidepressant."
"You don't know the chemistry?"
"No, but it'll cure the blues, that I can tell you. They're a popular item."
"I'll take one. Can you get me a glass of water?"
"Sure, honey."
She brought the water, and I managed to' gulp down the pill. Then I got out of there.
I was late for dinner.
19
The steward announced me. "Mr. McGraw, sir." I was admitted into the Captain's private dining room. It made the rest of the ship look like a tramp steamer by comparison. The walls were swaddled in gold fabric with red and white trim, hung with tasteful seascapes. The carpet was red and knee-high to a dwarf. Hanging above the broad expanse of table was an ornate crystal chandelier, throwing lambent light to glint off the silver service and the gold sconces. The china was pale chalk, probably porcelain, the tablecloth satin white and immaculate. I was impressed and stood at the door for a moment.
"Come in, Mr. McGraw." Captain Pendergast wiped his mouth delicately with a gold-colored napkin. "Please," he said, smiling warmly and gesturing to a chair. The other guests looked up at me. Darla, John, and company were there, but I recognized no one else except the redoubtable Mr. Krause. Darla and Susan were the only women.
"Sorry I'm late. Captain." I nodded to the other guests. Krause didn't look up.
"Not at all, Mr. McGraw. Please sit down."
Pendergast's dark blue eyes followed me until I was seated a few places down from him. I unfolded my napkin and laid it on my lap like a proper gentleman, then remembered that I don't like sitting at a table with a cloth draped over my knees, and put it back on the table.
"I suggest you try the seafood dish, Mr. McGraw. I do hope you like seafood."
"I wish you would call me Jake, Captain. Is it local?"
"As you like, Jake." His Intersystem was clipped and Teutonic, but with a Low Dutch broadness around the edges. "Yes, it's local catch. Some people consider it quite a delicacy, although its nutritional value is limited." The comers of his thin-lipped mouth curled upwards. "But we don't always eat to live. Do we?"
"I always enjoy eating," I answered, "and I always hope to live to eat again."
"Yes, it's a perilous universe," he said. 'To the natives this particular fish is pure poison. Strange, isn't it? If you don't care for it, we have a choice of entrees."
"I would like the fish," I told the steward standing patiently at my side. He left the room quietly. I turned to Pendergast. "You mentioned the natives. You can communicate with them?"
"With some difficulty, yes."
"What do you call them?"
"The name for their tribe… we like to call it a crew… is―" He barked twice, then smiled. "As you can see, the language barrier is formidable. Most English speakers call them Arfbarfs."
"Arfbarfs?"
At the other end of the table, Susan giggled into her wine.
"Yes, or Arfies, if you like. Properly speaking, they are Akwaterran Aboriginals, or simply Akwaterrans."
"Are they sentient?"
Pendergast stroked his dark beard. "I'll leave that judgment to the exopologists. Do have some wine, Jake."
A young officer to my left filled a long-stemmed glass. 'Tell me. Captain," I said. "What is the proper term for the…?" My Intersystem failed me, and I stumbled about for words.
"Would it be better for you if we spoke your native language, Jake?" Pendergast's English came out even better than his 'System. As usual, other people's language-hopping abilities made me feel sublingual.
"It'd be great," I said. 'Thanks, and I'm sorry for the trouble."
"It's nothing. I assume Intersystem isn't spoken on your home planet. Which was…?"
"Vishnu. No, it's either English or Hindustani."
"I see." He gave me a disapproving look. "But Intersystem is so easy to leam." He left it at that, and began eating again.
It made me feel wonderful. I took a long drink of the wine. It was flat and slightly sour.
"This is apropos of nothing," said a portly bald man in a pink formal suit across from me, "but did you know that the 'system' in Intersystem doesn't refer to solar systems?"
Eyes drifted toward him. "Really, Dr. Gutman?" said another young officer.
"Yes. Common misconception." Gutman cut with surgical precision into a breast of something vaguely avian. "It really refers to linguistic systems." He slipped a sliver of meat into his mouth and chewed slowly. "Everybody thinks planets," he said, more to himself than to anyone. Slowly, his gaze came around to me. "Don't you find that fascinating?"
"Enthralling," I said, and drained my wine glass.
"Jake, you wanted to know the proper term for something," the Captain said to crank the conversation back up again.
"Yes, the name for what your ship is riding on. The island-animal."
Pendergast had his fork poised above his plate, looking with some concern at his food. "We like to think of both metal and flesh as 'the ship.' STEWARD!"
The steward came through the hatch like a shot. Pendergast held up the plate as if it bore something putrid. "Tell Cookie that if I wanted my fish this well-done, I would have had the gunnery detail use it for target practice. Bring something edible."
"Yes, sir!"
"The Captain was telling us a few things about the ship wh
en you-came in, Jake," John said to me. To Pendergast he said, "We were all wondering how the ship is.. uh, steered. Is that the right word?"
"It's so primitive," the Captain answered, "I'm almost embarrassed to tell you. We have a taut steel cable strung between the bridge and the bow, with the bow end implanted into the megaleviathan's skull. The helmsmen are Arfies who send signals along the cable by beating on it. They are under my direction, of course. However, for maneuvers like docking, we must rely completely on the pilot crew."
"Remarkable," John said. "Megaleviathan? Is that what you call the island-creature?"
"Like everything on Akwaterra," Dr. Gutman said, "or Splash, as most everyone calls it, there is no official name. Scientifically speaking, that is. We don't have the resources to fund science here."
"But we will one day," one of the fresh young officers said enthusiastically. "Right, Captain?"
"Let us hope, Mr. Ponsonby," the Captain said, buttering a roll. He looked in Krause's direction and did a take. "Mr. Krause! What's wrong with your lip? Run into a hatch?"
Everyone looked at Krause's fat purple lip. Krause wanted to run and hide, but mumbled something about an accident.
I thought it behooved me to do the charitable thing and rescue him. "Who's idea was it," I asked the Captain, "to use the beast as a ferryboat?"
"Mine," Pendergast said flatly. "There was a conventional vessel on this run before, and it was lost. Dr. Gutman said we can't underwrite scientific inquiry here. He's wrong in that:
We can ― if the knowledge gained is practical and useful. I headed the first expedition to study the megaleviathans. It was readily apparent to me that we could make an arrangement with the Arfies and use the beast to ship vehicles and passengers over this very important stretch of submerged Skyway." He took a sip of wine. "It was apparent when we learned that the mega feeds only once a year…"
"And just about swallows half an ocean when she does," one of the officers broke in, drawing a dark glance from Pendergast. "Sorry, sir," he said, and coughed quietly into his palm.
"For the rest of the time," the Captain went on, "the animal's digestive system is dormant ― by a factor of ninety percent. It took some doing to find the right analogs to Terran histamine H2 inhibitors, which we use in shutting it down completely."
"Why didn't you just build another conventional vessel?"
Knowing smiles around the table.
"The seas are very dangerous here," Dr. Gutman said.
"Yes," I said. "We found that out when we went swimming back on the island."
Raised eyebrows all around.
"You were very lucky," Gutman said. "More wine, my dear?" he asked Darla.
"Yes, thank you."
"The animal's reproductive cycle must be an amazing thing," Roland said, anticipating my next question.
"It is," Pendergast said, "from what we know of it. But to answer your implied question… no, megas don't mate in the conventional sense. They're hermaphroditic, but there the similarity to Terran biology breaks down. Dr. Gutman, you're vastly more qualified to speak on the subject;"
Gutman went on at some length, lecturing on the sex life of the megaleviathan. No doubt the lecture was an old routine. All during it, I felt more eyes on me than there were on him, a feeling that had persisted since I sat down.
"… and at various intervals," Gutman was saying, "quite without any warning that we've been able to discover, the mega gives birth to a relatively small life form that looks somewhat like a Terran dolphin. It's the product of some kind of par-thenogenetic process which is also a complete mystery. The animal is born fully developed, 'and swims away. Sooner or later it comes wandering back and proceeds to swim up the main vaginal orifice of the mega, never to come out again. About a year after that happens, the mega disgorges an egg from the same opening. This sinks to the sea floor and buries itself in the mud. The egg is very large, by the way, about the size of an average house. Six years after that, from what we've observed, a new mega is hatched from the egg."
"Sounds as if the whole process is a closed loop, genetically speaking," Roland commented. "How do new genes find their way into the pool?"
"It's doubtful that a dolphinoid returns to fertilize the mega that birthed it, except by accident," Gutman said. "A simple tagging procedure would clear the matter up, but the little devils are frightfully hard to catch." He smiled wryly. "Besides, that's pure research, isn't it?"
"Well, if it's true, that opens the cycle up," Roland said. "Still, it's fascinating."
"Isn't it, though?"
"To me," Darla interjected, "the Arfbarfs are more interesting. I've been trying to think of a more striking example of interspecies cooperation. I don't think there is one in the known mazes."
"Strange you should say cooperation," Pendergast said. "Most
people assume the megas are simply beasts of burden, but their relationship with the Arfies is a classic symbiosis."
"Really?" John said. "How does the mega benefit? It's easy to see that the Arfbarfs―"
Susan convulsed with another bout of giggling. "Sorry," she said, red-faced. "It's that name." i
"Akwaterrans, then," John went on. "Living on one of these beasts should be very handy for an amphibious species ― but the mega?"
"I'll sum it up in one word," Pendergast said. "Barnacles."
"Barnacles?"
"The native equivalent. Marine crustaceans that attach themselves to the sides and keel of the beast. They're very prolific in these waters. Over a very short time they can weigh a mega down, and if the Akwaterrans didn't clean them off and eat them, the mega would eventually founder and sink."
"I see," John said, and sat back as another steward poured coffee.
My food finally came, just in time for dessert. I tasted the grayish-green mass of stuff on my plate. It was awful.
"That one looks underdone," Pendergast observed.
"It's adequate. But if it's all the same to you, I'm going to bypass the main course and head straight for dessert. Is that cherries jubilee?"
"Yes. Freeze-dried, I'm afraid, and the brandy's domestic."
"I'm patriotic at heart."
All during dinner, Darla had been stealing glances at me, trying to divine my mood. She must have been having a rough time, because I was riding an express elevator to the roof. The Purple Pyrotechnic Pill was kicking in.
Listless conversation went on among the other guests until Roland turned to the Captain and said, "You've explained why the Arfbarfs and megas get along, but how does the ship contribute to the arrangement? Or does it?"
"Let me offer my own one-word explanation," Gutman said, after having polished off his dessert in three gulps. "Food." He handed the empty bowl to the steward for seconds. "Surprised? You'd think that with a sea teeming with life there would be no problem. But there is. Arfie crews are stratified according to a division of labor. There's a crustacean-scraping class, a pilot class, a fishing class ― they need fish to supplement their diet ― a young-rearing class, various other smaller ones, including an officer class. As a result, relatively few Arfies gather food for the whole crew, and there is no crossing of class lines. Taboo. When the crew gets sociologically top-heavy, food-gathering becomes a problem. It's hard work scraping barnacles, as any swab can tell you. And as for fishing―"
"One-word explanation?" Pendergast scoffed. "I'll put it more simply, Mr. Yee. We won't scrape the keel for them, but we do help with the fishing, using nets, which the Arfies haven't got the hang of making yet. If you're an early riser, you might want-to watch us trawl tomorrow morning."
"Thank you. Captain," Gutman said dryly.
A siren wailed somewhere in the ship, making me jump a little. The elevator was shooting through the roof.
"A little after-dinner entertainment, ladies and gentlemen," Pendergast said. He rose and went over to a set of double hatches on the far bulkhead. He opened them and walked out onto a small lookout deck. We all got up and followed.
> Searchlight beams were sweeping the island, lancing out into the sea-sprayed night, but bright moonlight clearly revealed what was happening. The island was being invaded^ by a writhing mass of red spaghetti. Crimson tentacles were snaking their way from the shore toward a cluster of dome-huts, and hundreds of Arfies were on them like ants, hacking and cutting with sharpened seashells. Even with their numbers the Arfies were having a hard time checking the monster's progress. More clumps of tentacles oozed over the shoreline, separated, and began to flop and wriggle their way inland. More amphibians flung themselves at these, chopping and slashing with abandon. It was a nightmarish scene, overhung with orange clouds glowing spectrally with light from a bloated ruddy moon. It was the first time I heard the Arfies barking. The sound was a three-way cross between a bullfrog, a dog, and a good human burp. Pendergast's imitation had been accurate to a point, though emphasizing the canine element.
"Don't took too long, ladies and gentlemen," Pendergast said. "The gaze of the gorgon squid will turn you to stone." Turning to me he said, "You can see why a conventional ship is vulnerable in these waters, even a hydroskiff. And this is an average-size gorgon."
More tentacles boiled in the water around at least a quarter of the island's perimeter, slithering up on shore and coming inland to join the battle.
"It looks big enough to give the mega trouble," I said.
He shook his head. "They're big, but not big enough to take down a mega. It's after the Arfies."
The Arfies were sustaining casualties. We could see struggling forms wrapped in tentacles being dragged over the edge. I heard a beeping sound and turned to see Pendergast take a small communicator out of his vest pocket.
"Port battery reports ready, sir."
"Very well. Hold your fire." He looked at me, noticing my surprise. "We don't like to intervene unless we have to," he explained. "It's a natural check on their population."
I'm sure the Arfies are all for ecology, I thought, but…
We watched for about five minutes. The Arfies fought the gorgon to a standstill for a short period, but slowly the monster gained the upper hand, even though hundreds of severed tentacles lay everywhere, twitching and leaking dark ichor. Finally, a gargantuan head rose from the water a short distance from shore, and then a polyhedral eye surfaced, its facets fired with reflected moonlight. Pendergast lifted the communicator. "Take it out," he said quietly.
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