“Within a century or so, Franklin, we will literally be going outside the Solar System. Sooner or later we will meet types of intelligent life much higher than our own, yet in forms completely alien. And when that time comes, the treatment man receives from his superiors may well depend upon the way he has behaved toward the other creatures of his own world.”
The words were spoken so quietly, yet with such conviction, that they struck a sudden chill into Franklin’s soul. For the first time he felt that there might be something in the other’s point of view — something, that is, besides mere humanitarianism. (But could humanitarianism ever be “mere’?) He had never liked the final climax of his work, for he had long ago developed a great affection for the monstrous charges, but he had always regarded it as a regrettable necessity.
“I grant that your points are well made,” he admitted, “but whether we like them or not, we have to accept the realities of life. I don’t know who coined the phrase “Nature red in tooth and claw,” but that’s the way she is. And if the world has to choose between food and ethics, I know which will win.”
The Thero gave that secret, gentle smile which, consciously or otherwise, seemed to echo the benign gaze that so many generations of artists had made the hallmark of the Buddha.
“But that is just the point, my dear Franklin,” he answered. “There is no longer any need for a choice. Ours is the first generation in the world’s history that can break the ancient cycle, and eat what it pleases without spilling the blood of innocent creatures. I am sincerely grateful to you for helping to show me how.”
“Me!” exploded Franklin.
“Exactly,” said the Thero, the extent of his smile now far exceeding the canons of Buddhist art. “And now, if you will excuse me, I think I’ll go to sleep.”
CHAPTER XXI
‘So this,” grumbled Franklin, “is my reward for twenty years of devoted public service — to be regarded even by my own family as a bloodstained butcher.”
“But all that was true, wasn’t it?” said Anne, pointing to the TV screen, which a few seconds ago had been dripping with gore.
“Of course it was. But it was also very cleverly edited propaganda. I could make out just as good a case for our side.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Indra. “The division will certainly want you to, but it may not be easy.”
Franklin snorted indignantly.
“Why, those statistics are all nonsense! The very idea of switching our entire herds to milking instead of slaughtering is just crazy. If we converted all our resources to whalemilk production we couldn’t make up a quarter of the loss of fats and protein involved in closing down the processing plants.”
“Now, Walter,” said Indra placidly, “there’s no need to break a blood vessel trying to keep calm. What’s really upset you is the suggestion that the plankton farms should be extended to make up the deficit.”
“Well, you’re the biologist. Is it practical to turn that pea soup into prime ribs of beef or T-bone steaks?”
“It’s obviously possible. It was a very clever move, having the chef of the Waldorf tasting both the genuine and the synthetic product, and being unable to tell the difference. There’s no doubt you’re going to have a lovely fight on your hands — the farm people will jump right in on the Thero’s side of the fence, and the whole Marine Division will be split wide open.”
“He probably planned that,” said Franklin with reluctant admiration. “He’s diabolically well-informed. I wish now I hadn’t said so much about the possibilities of milk production during that interview — and they did overplay it a bit in the final article. I’m sure that’s what started the whole business.”
“That’s another thing I was going to mention. Where did he get the figures on which he based his statistics? As far as I know, they have never been published anywhere outside the bureau.”
“You’re right,” conceded Franklin. “I should have thought of that before. First thing tomorrow morning I’m going out to Heron Island to have a little talk with Dr. Lundquist.”
“Will you take me, Daddy?” pleaded Anne.
“Not this time, young lady. I wouldn’t like an innocent daughter of mine to hear some of the things I may have to say.”
‘Dr. Lundquist is out in the lagoon, sir,” said the chief lab assistant. “There’s no way of contacting him until he decides to come up.”
“Oh, isn’t there? I could go down and tap him on the shoulder.”
“I don’t think that would be at all wise, sir. Attila and Genghis Khan aren’t very fond of strangers.”
“Good God — is he swimming with them!”
“Oh yes — they’re quite fond of him, and they’ve got very friendly with the wardens who work with them. But anyone else might be eaten rather quickly.”
Quite a lot seemed to be going on, thought Franklin, that he knew very little about. He decided to walk to the lagoon; unless it was extremely hot, or one had something to carry, it was never worthwhile to take a car for such short distances.
He had changed his mind by the time he reached the new eastern jetty. Either Heron Island was getting bigger or he was beginning to feel his years. He sat down on the keel of an upturned dinghy, and looked out to sea. The tide was in, but the sharp dividing line marking the edge of the reef was clearly visible, and in the fenced-off enclosure the spouts of the two killer whales appeared as intermittent plumes of mist. There was a small boat out there, with somebody in it, but it was too far away for him to tell whether it was Dr. Lundquist or one of his assistants.
He waited for a few minutes, then telephoned for a boat to carry him out to the reef. In slightly more time than it would have taken him to swim there, he arrived at the enclosure and had his first good look at Attila and Genghis Khan.
The two killer whales were a little under thirty feet long, and as his boat approached them they simultaneously reared out of the water and stared at him with their huge, intelligent eyes. The unusual attitude, and the pure white of the bodies now presented to him, gave Franklin the uncanny impression that he was face to face not with animals but with beings who might be higher in the order of creation than himself. He knew that the truth was far otherwise, and reminded himself that he was looking at the most ruthless killer in the sea.
No, that was not quite correct. The second most ruthless killer in the sea…
The whales dropped back into the water, apparently satisfied with their scrutiny. It was then that Franklin made out Lundquist, working about thirty feet down with a small torpedo loaded with instruments. Probably the commotion had disturbed him, because he came quickly to the surface and lay treading water, with his face mask pushed back, as he recognized his visitor.
“Good morning, Mr. Franklin. I wasn’t expecting you today. What do you think of my pupils?”
“Very impressive. How well are they learning their lessons?”
“There’s no doubt about it — they’re brilliant. Even cleverer than porpoises, and surprisingly affectionate when they get to know you. I can teach them to do anything now. If I wanted to commit the perfect murder, I could tell them that you were a seal on an ice floe, and they’d have the boat over in two seconds.”
“In that case, I’d prefer to continue our conversation back on land. Have you finished whatever you’re doing?”
“It’s never finished, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll ride the torp back — no need to lift all this gear into the boat.”
The scientist swung his tiny metal fish around toward the island, and promptly set off at a speed which the dinghy could not hope to match. At once the two killers streaked after him, their huge dorsal fins leaving a creamy wake in the water. It seemed a dangerous game of tag to play, but before Franklin could discover what would happen when the killers caught the torpedo, Lundquist had crossed the shallow but clearly marked mesh around the enclosure, and the two whales broke their rush in a flurry of spray.
Franklin was very thoughtful on the way back to land. He had known Lundquist for years, but now he felt
