The Whale Song Translation: A Voyage of Discovery To Neptune and Beyond

by Howard Steven Pines

  Expressions of “gloom and doom” transfigured everyone’s faces. Lila’s face, however, seethed with rage. “So what did you say to him?” she fumed.

  “Who knows how I might have responded if my eyes hadn’t been opened during our meeting. Thanks again to all of you for challenging me with your passionate ideas. Because of the other disturbing message I received this morning, there’s another reason why I’m mad as hell. I therefore told Padgett in no uncertain terms that our mission here is all about the whales. Nobody is going to stop us until our investigation reveals everything that’s possible to discover about the humpbacks. I told him we’d find other sources of funding, if need be, to maintain the integrity of our program.”

  When the cheers died down, Hawkins asked, “What’s the news in the other disturbing message?”

  Gorman’s face morphed into a grim expression. “I hate to tell you this, Peter, but the tissue biopsy results of the beached humpbacks are negative for disease or infection.”

  Hawkins’s head drooped. “Which means it’s more than likely we’ve confirmed yet another human threat to our local humpback population.”

  Gorman reminded Dmitri’s team of the purported sightings of naval research vessels in the vicinity of the Pailolo Channel between Maui and Molokai. “At least we’re finally getting support from the larger eco-groups like Greenpeace and the NRDC.”

  “Right,” said Dmitri. “We saw today’s front-page story about the Greenpeace protestors at Pearl Harbor.”

  “Navy base protests won’t solve the problem.” Lila bounced out of her chair. “It’s more important than ever to make a significant communication breakthrough to give us the clout to stop those experiments.”

  Gorman nodded his agreement.

  “So how did Padgett respond to your pushback?” asked Hawkins.

  Gorman hesitated. “Well, I think I might have mentioned contacting the media about academic freedom issues if he reneged on our funding. After that, he relented and finally even apologized. Then he asked me very politely to refrain from publishing anything related to the experiment until the data and our conclusions are peer reviewed.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” Dmitri felt relieved. “It’s standard procedure, and we agreed to a media and publishing moratorium at last month’s SoCalSci funding meeting. By the way, did he tell you how he knew about the experiment?”

  “Nope,” replied Gorman. “He was mum on that issue. I suppose he could have been tipped off by one of your SoCalSci associates.”

  “And I think I know who that particular individual might be.”

  * * *

  After they’d adjourned the meeting, Lila escorted Andrew and Seema to the lab where she analyzed whale song recordings. “It looks like a scaled-down version of SoCalSci’s Signal Processing Lab,” Andrew observed. They were surrounded by a cluster of high-performance computer workstations and laptops for displaying and editing the waveforms.

  “Look at this.” Seema pointed to a fancy keyboard synthesizer perched atop a stand.

  “I love music.” Lila brushed her fingers across the keys of the instrument. “I think that’s the main reason I joined PICES. It’s the sheer beauty and mystery of the humpback’s songs. I love to jam along with the recordings or sample and integrate the vocalizations into my own compositions. As Peter mentioned, I’m in a New Age jazz combo.”

  Andrew’s eyes opened wide. “Lila, did you know that Seema is also a gifted musician?”

  “I don’t know about being gifted,” replied Seema. “I’m a classical violinist, but I’ve occasionally jammed with my jazz-aficionado sidekicks.”

  “Hey,” said Andrew, “how about you two do a quick duet?”

  Lila did not hesitate. “Wait just a sec.” She disappeared into the back room and emerged with a violin case. “This is Hawaii, where work and play go hand in hand. Let’s do it.”

  Andrew clapped his hands enthusiastically while Seema removed the violin from its case.

  After a few warm-up exercises, they were ready to jam. Lila started the session with an improvisational rendition of a melody from a Norah Jones song. Thirty seconds into Lila’s solo, Seema began to bow a single continuous vibrato chord, like the shruti drone of an Indian raga. Once she had synched up to the key of the song, she launched into a riff of rhythmic chord progressions that complemented Lila’s melody. After a while they switched roles, with Seema bowing a lively jazz-rock version of a Jean-Luc Ponty violin solo.

  Captivated by the music from the next room, the other team members drifted into the lab. The newcomers reacted instinctively, bouncing to the beat and clapping their hands. While Andrew hand-slapped a syncopated rhythm on a desktop, Greg hooted his approval. When the duo’s harmonizing crescendoed to a scintillating finale, the musicians were rewarded with a rousing ovation.

  “No problem here with team chemistry.” Hawkins directed his remarks to Dmitri, still snapping his fingers to the memory of Lila’s up-tempo rhythm. “As I mentioned, Lila’s combo is performing tomorrow night at a local supper club. We insist you be our guests for an evening of dinner and music.”

  “Besides that,” added Melanie, “the place has the most mouth-watering sushi on the island.”

  “Speaking of mouth-watering,” replied Seema, “I’ve been dying for a taste of fresh Maui pineapple.”

  Lila looped her arm around Seema’s. “Seema, my friend, I’ve never met an Indian woman who fiddles like you. I’ll see you dine like royalty on all of the freshest treats that Maui has to offer. Welcome to the Maui community of cetacean artists and scientists.”

  Dmitri observed the felicitous scene. Andrew looked happy as heck standing next to Lila, which didn’t seem to bother Seema at all. She seemed delighted to be discussing photography with Gorman. Dmitri felt ecstatic to be arm in arm with Melanie. Even Hawkins and Greg shared a laugh. What could be better, he thought, than doing research in paradise?

  * * *

  Three time zones to the East, Richard Prescott reviewed his afternoon email in his SoCalSci office, surprised to see a post from Harvey Padgett so soon after their conversation about Gorman:

  Sorry, Richard, but Gorman was adamant about proceeding with the communication experiments whether or not UH continues to fund him. He even threatened an embarrassing media ruckus if I attempt to stifle their academic freedom. He did agree to keep mum about this particular endeavor until he obtains more substantive evidence about the cetacean language issue. I’ll keep you informed, and certainly if he appears to violate our agreement.

  Prescott clenched his fists. It seemed that David Dmitri’s association with the controversial McPinsky still threatened to unleash the ghosts of the past. All right, he thought, there is more than one way to skin a cat. Perhaps he could derail the Dmitri-Gorman alliance with a dose of preventative medicine. Like a vaccination designed to prevent a virulent contagion from striking too close to home, he would inject a smidgen of controversy into the general population. By skillfully parsing the information, he could spare his own institution any embarrassment. True, the cure might require some sacrifices, but Gorman and Padgett weren’t being very cooperative, were they?

  He walked three blocks to one of the few remaining off-campus phone booths. After so many years, he was surprised it was still there, albeit tattooed with vulgar graffiti. He hesitated outside, weighing the consequences of his plan while anxiously pawing the coins in his pocket. When he started to walk away, a voice in his head chanted like a mantra, “Alea jacta est, the die has been cast.”

  He turned around, deposited the coins, and dialed the number he had committed to memory. After an interminable earful of cheesy elevator Muzak, he was greeted by a pleasant female voice. “This is the Enquirer hotline. Do you have a story for us?”

  CREATIONISTS AND LUDDITES–FULL OF PASSIONATE INTENSITY

  Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies, Kihei, Maui—five days later

  “We’ve been sabotaged.” Gorman slapped the wood
en table, startling the groggy Dmitri who nearly spilled his coffee. “Someone’s out to get us.”

  “But we’re just about to launch the experiment,” Greg protested, squinting through puffy eyelids.

  Dmitri cradled a steaming mug and scanned the table through the aromatic mist. It was eight o’clock in the morning, too early for most software engineers. With only Melanie absent, the members of the team slouched in chairs around the PICES conference table. When Gorman had finished rubbing his eyes, Dmitri could see they were bloodshot even from across the table.

  The members of the “Research in Paradise” team, as they had dubbed themselves, were shell-shocked. After five very productive team-building days, they’d completed most of the preparations for the PICES research vessel, which they’d christened the Research in Paradise. A pre-launch party had been arranged for that evening to unveil the team’s custom-designed T-shirts, stenciled with a humpback breaching above a Speakeasy word gram. Rather than reveling in the moment, however, they found themselves engulfed in a mass media firestorm.

  “How could this happen?” Lila threw her arms up in exasperation.

  Gorman explained how he’d been tipped off the previous night when an acquaintance had emailed the distressing news. A National Enquirer online story had compared the rumored PICES interspecies communication experiment to the Roswell ET incident. It further speculated that Professor McPinsky, the author of the infamous McPinsky Challenge, would supervise the experiment. The response had been instantaneous: a resurrection of the wrath of fundamentalists who, three years ago, had so fervently objected to the radical, secular-humanist threat posed by McPinsky’s challenge.

  The story had legs. Gorman’s Google to the keywords “PICES” and “National Enquirer” had returned over one hundred hits. Tuning his radio to the ten o’clock local news broadcast and hearing the same story, he realized that something was drastically wrong. Despite the late hour, he’d contacted the entire team and advised them to convene at PICES headquarters for this early morning emergency meeting.

  Gorman’s assistant entered the room and handed him a note. “Thank you, Shelley.” After a brief examination, he crushed it into a ball and lobbed it across the table. It landed dead center in the wastebasket to scattered applause. “Too bad the news we’ve just received is not as good as my free-throw percentage. At this very moment, protestors are assembling on the pier leading to the PICES dock.”

  “I know who blindsided us!” Dmitri clutched his empty coffee mug. “It’s the same scoundrel who tattled to Harvey Padgett. It’s Richard Prescott. He’s had a thing against McPinsky for a long time. Three years ago, he organized a malicious campaign to discredit him at SoCalSci. Prescott’s a typical company guy who equates bold thinking with controversy and trouble. I’d bet he’s redirecting his paranoia at me, a McPinsky disciple, whom he perceives as a threat to his rocking-chair existence.”

  “He is definitely a piece of work,” said Gorman. “Now we’ve got to reach a team decision on the best way to respond, especially since I was roused at 5 a.m. by a phone call from none other than Cristina Reyes of CNN.”

  Andrew perked up in his chair. “Cool. She’s a damn good journalist and a hottie to boot. I’ve always wondered if her gorgeous emerald eyes are natural or contact lenses.”

  Lila shook her head and Seema rolled her eyes.

  “Well,” said Gorman, “I might soon be able to answer your question. She’s invited me onto her TV show to discuss the rumors of our impending experiment.”

  “Damn that Prescott.” Dmitri slammed a fist onto the table, and Greg’s shoulders jerked.

  “Don’t fret,” said Gorman. “With luck, we can spin this in our favor. But we’ll have to make a quick decision, because the program begins at 1 p.m. local time. What do you think? Should I participate or not?”

  “It’s really your call, Chris,” said Dmitri. “From what you’ve described, only PICES has been dragged into the muck. You’re certain that SoCalSci wasn’t mentioned?”

  “Not a single hit when I’d Googled ‘SoCalSci’ and ‘National Enquirer.’”

  “That’s surprising,” said Andrew. “I’d heard about a recent bust of one of our psych profs in the company of a notorious drag queen. Too bad it wasn’t Prescott.”

  “Andrew, you’re so gauche.” Seema reached over and bonked him, playfully, on the head.

  “It’s all right, Seema.” Gorman had recovered his usual calm demeanor. “We’re all pretty downcast about these revolting developments. I appreciate Andrew’s attempts at levity, lightweight as they may be.”

  “Okay,” said Dmitri. “Since SoCalSci University has apparently flown beneath the media’s radar, I’m even more convinced Prescott is the puppet master behind this farce. I’ll phone the Dean of Engineering when he returns from his three-martini lunch.”

  “Since I can’t wait that long,” replied Gorman, “I’ve decided to address these charges head-on and defuse this brouhaha once and for all.”

  “Yea, Chris,” Lila shouted, against a backdrop of scattered cheers.

  “You know,” said Hawkins, “once this blows over, all the publicity might be a boon to our whale watching business and fundraising efforts.”

  “Just be careful, Mr. Gorman,” said Andrew. “There’s a reason why Cristina Reyes is known as the ‘Queen of Entrapment.’”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Greg. “Remember last year when she maneuvered that Orthodox Jewish congressman into admitting he’d made a killing in pork-belly futures? It cost him the election.”

  Dmitri chuckled. “How ironic,” he said, “considering that for years he’d been reelected for bringing more pork to his district than anyone else in Congress.” When the laughter subsided, Dmitri felt better, delighted by the revival of the team’s high spirits.

  “As an experienced diver, I deal with sharks like Reyes all the time,” said Gorman. “And I don’t think I’m hiding any skeletons in my closet.” He checked his watch. “It’s time to inform Ms. Reyes I’m prepared to be a willing participant in her gladiatorial arena. Then I’m off to the local TV studio for a noon makeup call. I think I’ll opt for the guava eye shadow.”

  “Good luck, Chris,” said Lila. She surprised him with a hug.

  During the next three hours, the team focused on the experiment’s final preparations. Andrew and Seema tested their Speakeasy and whale-synthesizer computer programs. Greg assisted Andrew in the migration of Spelvin’s game-analysis code to Andrew’s codebase. Dmitri engaged in a round-robin flurry of phone conversations with Lila and local contractors they’d hired to outfit the Research in Paradise floating laboratory. Lila directed the efforts on the boat, docked at the nearby Kihei boat harbor.

  Hearing Shelly’s summons to lunch, Dmitri couldn’t believe the time had passed so quickly. After the famished collaborators had returned to the conference room and devoured their Caesar salad and pizza, it was nearly time for Gorman’s broadcast.

  “I’m getting nervous.” Dmitri punched buttons on the TV’s remote until he’d navigated to the correct channel.

  “Me too,” replied Hawkins, “but don’t worry. Chris is an old pro at public speaking engagements.”

  When the familiar theme music heralded the beginning of the program, all eyes shifted to the portable television. The recognizable face of the Latina journalist appeared.

  “I’m in love,” whimpered Andrew. “It’s those emerald eyes, those curvelicious lips.”

  He ducked to avoid the pizza crust Seema propelled in his direction.

  “Serves you right,” Greg chuckled.

  “Good evening. This is Cristina Reyes of CNN Headline News, welcoming you to tonight’s edition of Urgent Assignment. Our lead story: ‘Are whales trying to tell us something?’ We have confirmed that the Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies in Maui has discovered evidence of advanced intellectual capabilities in humpback whales. The Institute is preparing an interspecies communication experiment in Hawaiian waters to
verify their initial findings. The news about the experiment has provoked vehement protests from organizations concerned about public monies spent on what they consider a dubious enterprise. We’ll be back in a moment with a roundtable discussion.”

  Lila entered the room, gasping for breath. “I ran all the way.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Dmitri, “you didn’t miss anything important.” He pointed at the TV, currently airing a series of commercials.

  “I saved you a slice of pizza,” said Andrew, inviting her to sit in the seat next to him. “How’s the boat?”

  “We’re looking shipshape for launch, but I’ve gotta say there’s excitement brewing outside.” She paused to catch her breath. “A van from the local TV station is parked just down the street with a satellite dish on its roof. I also saw the protesters that Chris mentioned and a news reporter and crew preparing for a broadcast.”

  “What kind of protestors?” asked Seema.

  “Some were brandishing SAVE THE WHALES and STOP THE NAVY’S EXPERIMENTS signs. Others were distributing Jehovah’s Witness leaflets. They were definitely yelling at each another.”

  Reyes’s voice grabbed everyone’s attention. “Now let’s hear what our panel of experts, spanning six time zones, has to say.”

  Boxes of talking heads began to populate the screen.

  “Oh, God!” Greg pointed at the TV. “It’s McPinsky.”

  “What the heck?” A sly smile emerged from the tense crease of Dmitri’s mouth. “I knew he’d dive into this one way or another, but this tops them all.”

  “Which box is he?” asked Seema.

  “Upper right.”

  McPinsky peered imperiously into the electromagnetic ether.

  “He looks like a guru,” said Seema.