weeks, plus or minus a few days. I'll be nearly there by then. Actually, it wasn't the food and oxygen that was worrying me, so much as the boredom.”
Professor Sullivan nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, narcosamine is safe enough, and can be calibrated fairly accurately. But mind you've got plenty of food handy—you'll be ravening when you wake up, and as weak as a kitten. Suppose you starved to death because you hadn't the strength to use a can-opener?”
“I'd thought of that,” said Jan, a little hurt. “I'll work up through sugar and chocolate in the usual way.”
“Good: I'm glad to see that you've been into the problem thoroughly, and aren't treating it like some stunt you can back out of if you don't like the way it's going. It's your life you're playing with, but I'd hate to feel I was helping you to commit suicide.”
He picked up the skull and lifted it absentmindedly in his bands. Jan grabbed the plan to prevent it rolling up.
“Luckily,” continued Professor Sullivan, “the equipment you need is all fairly standard, and our shop can put it together in a few weeks. And if you decide to change your mind—”
“I won't,” said Jan.
“… I've considered all the risks I'm taking, and there seems to be no flaw in the plan. At the end of six weeks I'll emerge like any other stowaway and give myself up. By then—in my time, remember—the journey will be nearly over. We will be about to land on the world of the Overlords.
“Of course, what happens then is up to them. Probably I'll be sent home on the next ship—but at least I can expect to see something. I've got a four millimetre camera and thousands of metres of film: it won't be my fault if I can't use it. Even at the worst, I'll have proved that man can't be kept in quarantine forever. I'll have created a precedent that will compel Karellen to take some action.
“That, my dear Maia, is all I have to say. I know you won't miss me greatly: let's be honest and admit that we never had very strong ties, and now that you've married Rupert you'll be quite happy in your own private universe. At least, I hope so.
“Goodbye, then, and good luck. I shall look forward to meeting your grandchildren—make sure that they know about me, won't you?
“Your affectionate brother Jan”
13
When Jan first saw it, he found it hard to realize that he was not watching the fuselage of a small airliner being assembled. The metal skeleton was twenty metres long, perfectly streamlined, and surrounded by light scaffolding over which the workmen were clambering with their power tools.
“Yes,” said Sullivan in reply to Jan's question. “We use standard aeronautical techniques, and most of these men are from the aircraft industry. It's hard to believe that a thing this size could be alive, isn't it? Or could throw itself clear out of the water, as I've seen them do.”
It was all very fascinating, but Jan had other things on his mind. His eyes were searching the giant skeleton to find a suitable hiding-place for his little cell—the “air-conditioned coffin', as Sullivan had christened it. On one point he was Immediately reassured. As far as space was concerned, there would be room for a dozen stowaways.
“The framework looks nearly complete,” said Jan. “When will you be putting on the skin? I suppose you've already caught your whale, or you wouldn't know how large to make the skeleton.”
Sullivan seemed highly amused by this remark.
“We haven't the slightest intention of catching a whale. Anyway, they don't have skins in the usual sense of the word. It would hardly be practicable to fold a blanket of blubber twenty centimetres thick around that framework. No, the whole thing will be faked up with plastics and then accurately painted. By the time we've finished, no one will be able to tell the difference.” In that case, thought Jan, the sensible thing for the. Overlords to have done would be to take photographs and make the full-sized model themselves, back on their home planet. But perhaps their supply ships returned empty, and a little thing like a twenty-metre sperm whale would hardly be noticed. When one possessed such power and such resources, one could not be bothered with minor economies…
Professor Sullivan stood by one of the great statues that had been such a challenge to archaeology since Easter Island was discovered. King, god or whatever it might be, its eyeless gaze seemed to be following his as he looked upon his handiwork. He was proud of what he had done: it seemed a pity that it would soon be banished forever from human sight.
The tableau might have been the work of some mad artist in a drugged delirium. Yet it was a painstaking copy from life: Nature herself was the artist here. The scene was one that, until the perfection of underwater television, few men had ever glimpsed—and even then only for seconds on those rare occasions when the giant antagonists thrashed their way to the surface. These battles were fought in the endless night of the ocean depths, where the sperm whales hunted for their food. It was food that objected strongly to being eaten alive—The long, saw-toothed lower jaw of the whale was gaping wide, preparing to fasten upon its prey. The creature's head was almost concealed beneath the writhing network of white, pulpy arms with which the giant squid was fighting desperately for life. Livid sucker-marks, twenty centimetres or more in diameter, had mottled the whale's skin where those arms had fastened. One tentacle was already a truncated stump, and there could be no doubt as to the ultimate outcome of the battle. When the two greatest beasts on earth engaged in combat, the whale was always the winner. For all the vast strength of its forest of tentacles, the squid's only hope lay in escaping before that patiently grinding jaw had sawn it to pieces. Its great expressionless eyes, half a metre across, stared at its destroyer—though, in all probability, neither creature could see the other in the darkness of the abyss.
The entire exhibit was more than thirty metres long, and had now been surrounded by a cage of aluminium girders to which the lifting tackle had been connected. Everything was ready, awaiting the Overlords' pleasure. Sullivan hoped that they would act quickly: the suspense was beginning to be uncomfortable. Someone had come out of the office into the bright sunlight, obviously looking for him. Sullivan recognized his chief clerk, and walked over to meet him.
“Hello, Bill—what's the fuss?”
The other was holding a message form and looked rather pleased.
“Some good news, Professor. We've been honoured! The Supervisor himself wants to come and look at our tableau before it's shipped off. Just think of the publicity we'll get. It will help a lot when we apply for our new grant. I'd been hoping for something like this.”
Professor Sullivan swallowed hard. He never objected to publicity, but this time he was afraid he might get altogether too much.
Karellen stood by the head of the whale and looked up at the great, blunt snout and the ivory-studded Jaw. Sullivan, concealing his unease, wondered what the Supervisor was thinking. His behaviour had not hinted at any suspicion, and the visit could be easily explained as a normal one. But Sullivan would be very glad when it was over.
'We've no creatures as large as this on our planet,” said Karellen. “That is one reason why we asked you to make this group. My—er—compatriots will find it fascinating.”
“With your low gravity,” answered Sullivan, “I should have thought you would have had some very large animals. After all, look how much bigger you are than us!”
“Yes—but we have no oceans. And where size is concerned, the land can never compete with the sea.”
That was perfectly true, thought Sullivan. And as far as he knew, this was a hitherto unrevealed fact about the world of the Overlords. Jan, confound him, would be very interested.
