Involution Ocean

Next morning at breakfast Calothrick sat next to Murphig at the table in the dining tent Palming his dropper, he squeezed a massive dose of the brew into Murphig’s gruel. Then he caught my eye and winked.

We both examined Murphig anxiously. Stolidly, the young Nullaquan cleaned his bowl, rose with perfect com­ posure, and walked out of the tent I had always known syncophine to have a powerful and rapid effect but I kept an eye on him for a full hour anyway. Nothing. Obviously it was still much too weak.

When we killed our next whale I appropriated two buck­ets of intestines and started work. Calothrick met me after lunch that day and we had a hurried consultation.

“Still too weak,” I said. “Maybe there’s a certain organ that yields the Flare. The spleen maybe, the pancreas . . .”

“Spleen my eye,” said Calothrick testily. He was always on edge now, his eyeballs were yellowed and bloodshot “What the death good will that do us? Neither one of us knows anything about anatomy, much less a whale’s. They probably don’t even have spleens.”

“We’ll just have to do what we can,” I said patiently. “Sooner or later we’ll get it right You want to try out some of the brew? Maybe there’s something physically ab­normal about Murphig.”

“Why torture me?” Calothrick said savagely. “We’ve fed it to him for four days now, stronger every time, and noth­ing. Nothing! Y’know, I’m starting to wonder about you. You’re taking it mighty easily; you’re as cool as a fish. No trembling, no jitters. Maybe you’ve got something I don’t know about. Like a bottle.”

“Really,” I chided.

“You got it soft, you know? You stay down here where it’s cool, serving that slop you call food—Don’t you shush me, man! You know what I have to go through up there? They order me around like a dog, tell me to do things I obviously never heard of before, and I cant even ask a question, man. Not with that mask on! If I want to ask something, I’d have to take it off and bloody my lungs with raw air. Every speck of dust is just like a needle inside your chest. No way! You realize that there are seven different kinds of ropes on this tub? And that doesn’t count the hal­liards, the braces, the downhauls or the clew lines. And there’s twenty sails on this thing! Uppers and lowers and mizzens and gallants ... how am I supposed to get ’em straight? So they send me to do the shit jobs. The stuff nobody else will touch. Look at this hand!”

Calothrick thrust his hand in front of my face. He had barked three of his knuckles. His fingers trembled notice­ably. “I had to overhaul the secondary generator this morn­ing. I did all the work while Grent stood by cleaning his fingernails and telling me what to do. And this afternoon I start work on the sewage recycler. No water for a bath. Hardly enough to wipe off with a sponge every other day! No, we save every drop. And down in the hold we have dozens of barrels full of cool, clean water. ‘Bound for the Highisle,’ they say. Shipowners wallow in luxury while we cook on deck.” “You volunteered,” I said pointedly.

“Don’t remind me.”

“And you’re not the only green hand on board.”

“Murphig was born here, man. It makes all the differ­ence. Anyway, IH take care of Murphig in my own way.”

“Cheer up,” I said flatly. “I’ll have the new brew ready by tonight Half a bottle full. That’ll do it if anything will.”

Calothrick stared sullenly at me for a few seconds, then went back on deck.

Human blood poisoned whales, I told myself. I won­dered If Calothrick would poison fhe sharks if I kicked him overboard.

That night Calothrick met me in the kitchen just before supper. “Have you got it ready?” he said, slapping his dust-mask down on the counter.

“Yeah,” I said, “but I’ve been thinking. It’s odd. After all, Nullaquans have been here for five hundred years. You’d think that everyone would be doing Flare by now. Or at least know about it.”

“So? Let’s go, you’re wasting time.”

I was annoyed. “Wait a minute, hear me out,” I said calmly. “I’m not sure you know this, but the first settlers on Nullaqua were a very small group. Only about fifty.”

“What in Oblivion’s name are you talking about?” Calo­thrick had a flair for Nullaquan profanity.

“Keep listening. They cloned off the first generation, you see, to fit in with Nullaquan conditions. Hairy noses, thick eyelids, the whole thing, you understand? There were no direct descendants of the original fifty. They’d all had themselves sterilized. So, maybe, in all that genetic manipu­lation, there was a gene that causes immunity to Flare.”

“Immunity?” said Calothrick aghast.

“Why not? I suppose it’s possible. The founders were op­posed to unorthodox drugs in general. Death, they proba­bly knew about Flare from the beginning. They were cranks, but they weren’t stupid.”

“You mean we fed that bastard a whole bottle of Flare for nothing?” Calothrick said. He had turned pale.

“I’m not sure of it. I’m not a geneticist.”

“Give me the bottle,” Calothrick said flatly.

I did. “What I said about it’s being dangerous still holds, of course.”

“Shut up.” Calothrick pulled his eyedropper out, tilted fhe bottle, and sucked up a minimal dose. “I suppose I’m an idiot to do this.”

“You said it, not me.”

“On the other hand . . . well, here’s greasy luck.** Calo­thrick squeezed out a shot onto his tongue. He swallowed.

We waited. “Any effect?” I said finally.

Calothrick opened Us month, but choked on words. Fi­nally he emitted a strangled, “Wow!”

“If it’s that good I think I’ll have a small blast myself. Lend me your dropper.” I plucked it out of his nerveless fingers. Ideally I should have waited to see if Calothrick suffered any adverse side effects, but I was hurting. Besides, it seemed to have done him a world of good. A blasted grin was plastered on his face and the yellow withdrawal tinge was already fading from his eyes. I sucked up a normal dose and swallowed.

By the time I got up from the floor, the food had grown cold and I had to reheat it But it had been worth it.

I felt reasonably content about the bottle. There was a good five months’ worth in it for one man, maybe two months for Calothrick and me. Calothrick was something of an enthusiast.

I hid the bottle in the cupboard. At night, after the wash­ing up was done, or rather scrubbing up—I used sand, not water, I wrestled with my self-control about a second dose. I almost always limited myself to one a day, less than that most of the time. Or at least a great deal of the time. Some­times I even quit for two or three weeks at a stretch. But my alcohol intake went up sharply then, and, coming from a frontier planet like Bunyan, I knew the debilitating and addictive effects of booze. I wasn’t sure about the long-term effects of Flare. But better an unknown devil than one known only too well, I thought. Besides, this new discovery called for a celebration. Abstinence was ridiculous.

I took my eyedropper from its hiding place under the counter and measured off a healthy dose—perhaps more then healthy. I turned off the lights in the kitchen, laid down on my pallet pulled the quilt up to my chin, and took the blast. I had just enough time to put the dropper under my pillow before the rush hit me.

Hallucinations filled the darkness. Electric blue networks expanded across my field Of vision. They were replaced by glittering silver dots, linked in inextricable, inexplicable geometric patterns. Bright energy surged up my spine. I felt that my brain was dissolving.” Someone stepped over me. A sudden conviction over­came me—it was the Angel of Death. I felt sudden panic. I fought it down, repeating internal mantras: Tranquillity. Peace. Calm. Repose. . . .

The same someone pulled open the cupboard. The click as it opened was as loud as a gunshot. Aural hallucinations now, echoes, alien voices speaking. I struggled to get a grip on myself. Someone was definitely in the room. I tried to pull myself up on one elbow; dizziness overcame me. I sank back onto the pillow, grinning helplessly.

“Who is it?” I tried to say, but the words came out sounding like “wizard.” A bad omen. I was helpless.

I heard the distorted thuds of feet on the steps. The hatch snapped open. It shut again.

I suddenly realized that it must have been Calothrick who had come down for another dose and been unwilling to wake me. The image of Calothrick appeared in my mind’s eye, recognizably him, although his narrow head was adorned with bulbous gray spines. Calothrick, of course. Nothing to worry about. I fell asleep.