Involution Ocean

com­plained. “You got anything to eat?”

“Get back on deck and try to look weak,” I said. “The starvation will help.”

“Hey, thanks a lot,” Calothrick said resentfully. Then he bent over and licked up the counter top puddle of Flare with his broad, spatulate tongue.

It seemed that he was hardly gone before Murphig came into the kitchen. He pulled off his mask; we eyed each other warily.

“You’re looking well,” he said at last.

“So are you.”

“I thought I saw you hit.”

“I know I saw you,” I said. “How’s the leg?”

“No worse than your neck.”

“Listen, Murphig,” I said patiently, “what’s on your mind? Food not to your taste?”

“Let’s quit fencing, Newhouse,” Murphig said. (Were his eyewhites just the faintest shade of yellow? No.) “You were hit, and I was hit, and neither one of us is sick. Fine. So you know it’s psychosomatic. Are you going to tell the captain about it?”

Confused, I kept silent.

“If Desperandum finds out he’ll keep us in the stinking backwater until something eats us alive,” Murphig said anxiously. “We’re breaking custom to come here. We’re begging for death, do you understand? This is their game preserve. The men know it. Even Desperandum knows it, somewhere inside, or else he wouldn’t be sick. We’re crack­ing . . . panicking. The longer we stay in here the worse the men will get”.

He seemed to expect an answer. I nodded.

“Even your little winged friend, huh?” Murphig said nas­tily. “She’s like a bird in a cage here. You know what birds are? Yeah, of course ... I saw her crack right after she hit the anemone; she headed east for the shadows. If you don’t get her out of here, she’ll die. You have influence with the captain. Get us out”.

“We’re leaving already,” I said. “And Dalusa, while no miracle of stability, is probably closer to sanity than you are.”

Murphig thought that over. “Yes. I can see how an off-worlder might think that”.

“Murphig,” I said, “get out of my kitchen before you make me break into hives.”

“You and I will have to work double shifts until we get out of here and the crew heals But I suppose you know that”.

“Out Murphig!”

Murphig left.

The outrushing cold breeze at the mouth of Glimmer Bay had caught the Lunglance; with the wind directly at our backs, we made for the middle of the channel. It was a simple maneuver; the bay seemed to usher us back into the sunlight. Mr. Grent had taken the tiller, below, Desperan­dum and I conversed in his cabin.

“I’ve had to face a temporary defeat here, Newhouse,” the captain said. “I can’t say I like that much. I’d turn this bay upside down, plague or no plague, if I didn’t know I’d be back. But I’ll be here next year, I swear that. With a... well, did you ever hear of a helicopter?”

“Certainly.”

“After this voyage I’ll have one built—secretly. I’ll run it on whale oil. I’ll need a crewman.”

“I don’t know much about Nullaquan law, Captain, but isn’t that illegal?”

“Why should that stop us?”

It was a good question. “Why a helicopter?”

“Because they’re fast, mobile, and invulnerable. I’ll take it on board ship—no one will recognize it for what it is, since there’s not a Nullaquan alive that’s ever seen a flying machine. Too wasteful of resources. But the Lunglance will stop outside the bay; well row off under cover of darkness and ride the updraft inside. Then, whatever’s necessary a few mild depth charges, for instance, should bring any anemones to the surface. I consider it a damn shame that I didn’t get a population count. For all we know, those two were the only members of their species left on the planet”.

I glanced past Desperandum’s shoulder and out of the window in the stern. Behind us, outlined by the inpouring glow from the crater, came Dalusa. She looked tired; her wings moved slowly and laboriously, as if she had been fly­ing all night.

“Only two, Captain? Unlikely. A fertilized egg in our nets implies at least two adults. Or are they hermaphrodi­tic?”

“No. But solid proof, you see, an actual specimen or au­thenticated eyewitness account . . . well, they’re lacking. We can’t be rock-solid certain.”

I gestured at the windows. “The lookout is coming in.”

Desperandum glanced outwards. “That’s good. I’ll dock her pay for the time she missed.”

An inch on his splattered hand distracted him. He ran one blunt finger gently over an inflamed knuckle.

We were halfway through the strait now, moving at a tremendous rate for the Lunglance. Behind us a strong gust caught Dalusa and she swooped low.

A forest of barbed tentacles leapt upwards from beneath the surface, scattering dust that trailed off, stolen by the wind. Dalusa beat desperately upwards; monster thorns scratched the air she had just vacated. As she gained height the anemones—a dozen at least—sank regretfully beneath the dust.

Desperandum was still fiddling with his knuckle. “Cap­tain, did you see that?” I said.

“See what?” said Desperandum.

Chapter 13 A Conversation with a Young Nullaquan Sailor

The illness vanished almost immediately once we were out of Glimmer Bay. We did not go to Perseverance after all.

Three weeks into our fifth month at sea we discovered a pod of whales and slaughtered all day. I think we attracted upwards of two hundred sharks.

We butchered the whales more quickly than seemed hu­manly possible. Everyone was pressed into the effort. Even Desperandum wielded bis mighty axe with the rest. The crew wore cleats on their shoes when they attached the hoisting hooks; a single slip would have sent them into the rending jaws of the sharks, and not even Desperandum’s vindictive lance could have saved them in such an eventu­ality.

No matter how quickly we pulled our massive victims onto the deck, their bellies were still ripped to oozing tat­ters by the scavengers. Several of our men were grieviously bitten by pilot fish; one lost a finger. We hacked and butch­ered and hoisted all day, and the sulfurous fires of the try-pots wore kept burning far into the night, staining our white sails with a thin coat of soot At last the crew fell into their bunks like dead men.

Next morning Desperandum officially announced that the holds were full. The crew pulled off their masks for a brief moment to give a single cheer, then walked into the galley tent to settle down to a gala breakfast.

Despite the vastly increased workload that this day of celebration cost me, I was in a good mood. Dalusa, her scouting trips no longer necessary, worked hard at my side. After numerous false starts she was showing promise of be­coming a talented cook. Besides that, I had four flasks of quality syncophine hidden securely in the kitchen, surely all that I could possibly smuggle off planet.

Later that night the crew began to drink heavily. It seemed that only one of us was not swept away by the holiday mood: Captain Desperandum. The captain had been sulking in his cabin for the past few days, perhaps ill from his arm, which had still not healed. I got stumbling drunk, and Dalusa went to talk to the captain. She never drank alcohol, and the sight of drunkenness made her un­easy. She could not accustom herself to the altered behav­ior patterns.

As we sailed on toward the Highisle it became obvious that something was occupying the captain’s mind. Days passed, and the crew settled into a dumb torpor, whiling away the hours with scrimshaw. Not so Desperandum. He paced the triple deck restlessly, scanning the horizon. On one occasion he even climbed up to the