“Then I’d better stay alert.”
“Absolutely.”
“Suppose his religion was threatened. How would he react?”
“You mean Orthodox Judaism?”
“No, I mean any religion he now happens to hold. Wait, I’ll expand that. How would he react to a threat against something he’s believed in all his life?”
“It would make him angry, of course. But he’s not a fanatic. Challenge him and he’d be willing to argue. But to make him change his mind about something basic, you’d have to offer real proof. You couldn’t just cast doubts. If you see what I mean.”
On the great white screen in the Space Traffic Control Center, two dark blobs hung almost motionless. Halley Johnson swung his phone camera around so Garner could see it.
“The military ship is going just a teeny bit faster than the honeymooner. If they’re really going all the way to Neptune they’ll pass each other.”
“Where else could they be going?”
“A number of asteroids. I have a list.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Johnson read off the names of fourteen minor Greek deities. “A lot more have been crossed off,” he added. “When the ship passes turnover point and keeps accelerating, we mark it out.”
“Okay. Keep me posted. How ’bout my ship?”
“Be here at twenty. You’ll be in orbit by twenty-one.”
The Struldbrugs’ Club is not the only club with a lower age limit on its members. (Consider the Senate.) It is the only club whose age limit rises one year for every two that passes. In 2106 every member was at least one hundred and forty-nine years old. Naturally the Struldbrugs’ autodocs were the best in the world.
But the treatment tanks still looked like oversized coffins.
Luke pulled himself out of the tank and read the itemized bill. It was a long one. The ’doc had hooked by induction into his spine and done deep knee bends to build up muscle tone; recharged the tiny battery in his heart; and added hormones and more esoteric substances to his bloodstream. Localized ultrasonic pulses had applied the Ch’ien treatment; Luke could feel the ache from the base of his skull all the way down his spine, to where sensation almost disappeared in the small of his back. A manicure and pedicure had finished the checkup.
Luke used his Arm ident to punch for a six months’ supply of the hormones, antiallergens, selective pest killers, and general rejuvenators which kept him alive and healthy. What came out of the slot was a hypodermic the size of a beer can, with instructions all down the sides in fine print. Luke tightened his lips at the sight of the needle; but you can’t use a spray hypo when you’ve got to hit the vein. He told the ’doc where to send the bill.
One more chore and he could take a cat nap.
Because of the decrepit state of many Struldbrugs, the club phone booths had been made large enough for travel chairs—barely. Already Luke had the air translucent with cigarette smoke. “How do you talk to a dolphin?” he asked, feeling unaccountably diffident.
Fred Torrance said, “Just the way you would have talked to Larry. But Charley will answer in dolphinese, and I’ll translate. You couldn’t make out his English over the phone.”
“Okay. Charley, my name’s Lucas Garner. I’m with the Arms. Do you know what’s happened to Larry?”
Grunts, chortles, whistles, squeals, and squeaks! Only once had Luke heard the like of it. Eighteen years ago he had been a witness at a murder trial. Three other witnesses—and the victim, who of course was not present—had been dolphins.
Torrance translated: “He knows Larry’s lost his sense of identity. Dr. Jansky called and told us all about it.”
“Well, yesterday Larry got away from us and took off in a stolen ship. I’m going after him. I want to know everything Charley can tell us about him.”
Dolphin language. Torrance said, “Charley wants a favor in return.”
“Oh, really? What?” Luke braced himself. Since the cracking of the swimmer-dolphin language barrier, the dolphins had proved very able bargainers. Fortunately or not, the dolphins’ rigid, complex moral code had adapted easily to the walker concept of trade.
“He wants to talk to you about the possibility of dolphins taking part in the seeding of the stars.”
Of the three present, Torrance the seadoc had the clearest understanding of what was being said. Charley was speaking slowly and clearly, staying well below the ultrasonic range, but even so Torrance often had trouble translating. To him the bilingual conversation went like this:
“I’ll be damned in writing,” said Garner. “Charley, is this a new idea? I’ve never heard of a dolphin wanting to go starhopping.”
“Not…brand new. The question has been discussed on the abstract level, and many are in favor of it, if only from the fear that swimmers will be left out of something. But I, myself, never felt the urge until three days ago.”
“Greenberg. He had the space bug bad, did he?”
“Please use the present tense. Yes, he has the bug all right. I’ve had a couple of days to get used to Larry in my head. I won’t say I quite understand this urge to reach Jinx, but I can explain a little of it.
“I dislike using an outmoded term, but part of it is”—Charley used the English words—“’anifesst desstinee. Part is the fact that on Jinx he could have as many children as he wants, four or five even, and nobody would complain. Partly it is the same urge I sometimes get in this tank. No room to swim. Larrry wants to walk down a street without the slightest fear of stepping on someone’s toes, having his pocket picked, or getting caught in a pedestrian traffic jam and being carried six blocks the wrong way. Notice that I’ve put considerably more thought into analyzing this than Larrry ever did.”
“And how do you feel about it? You’re a dolphin. You probably never looked at the stars—”
“Missterr ’Arrnerr, I assure you that we swimmers know what the stars look like. There are many astronomy and astrophysics tapes in the illustrated texts your agents sold us. And, after all, we do have to come up for air sometimes!”
“Sorry. But the point remains: you’ve got plenty of elbow room, you’ve never had your toes stepped on, and nothing but a killer whale could possibly be interested in picking your pocket. So what’s in it for you?”
“Perhaps adventure. Perhaps the forming of a new civilization. You know that there has been only one swimmer civilization for many thousands of years. The seas are not isolated, as are the continents. If there is a better way of doing things, the way for us to find out is to build many communities on many worlds. Is this logical?”
“Yes!” There was no mistaking the emphasis in Garner’s voice. “But it may not be as easy as you think. We’d certainly have to design you an entirely new ship, because we’d have to include swimming water. And water is heavy, dammit. I’ll bet shipping a dolphin would cost ten times as much as shipping a man.”
“You use water for reaction mass for the landing motors. Could you put lights in the water tanks?”
“Yes, and we could fill them only two-thirds full, and we could install filters to remove the fish and the algae and so on before the water reaches the motors. We could even install small tanks somewhere that you could ride in while the tanks were being emptied during landing. Charley, are you beginning to get some picture of the cost of all this?”
“Beginning to, yes. Money is complex.”
“You know it. But you couldn’t possibly buy your way on, not with what the dolphins produce. Oh, you could get a pair to Wonderland, but how could two dolphins stay sane alone? What would they live on? Seeding an ocean isn’t like planting a wheat field, even when you have to make the topsoil yourself. Fish swim away! Seeding an ocean has to be done all at once!
“Hmm. You can’t even claim it’s your right to be on a starship. Dolphins don’t pay UN taxes…hmm,” said Luke, and scratched his scalp. “Charley, just how many dolphins could be persuaded to leave their oceans forever?”
“As many as we need.
Selected by lot, if necessary. The Law permits such selection in cases of extreme need. Of the hundreds of swimmers who took part in early walker experiments to prove us intelligent, and of the twenty or thirty who died as a result, nearly all had been so selected.”
“Oh…really? And nobody ever guessed.” Torrance wondered at Garner’s peculiar expression. Almost a look of horror. It had been so long ago; why should he be so shocked? Garner said, “Let it pass. How many genuine volunteers?”
“They would all be genuine. But you want to know how many would volunteer without the lots? No more than fifty to a hundred, I would think, out of all the oceans.”
“All right. Now what we’ll have to start with is a massive advertising campaign. The dolphins will have to contribute a share of the cost of a dolphin spaceship. Just a gesture. It would be nominal compared to the final cost, but to you it will be expensive. Then we’ll have to convince most of the walker world that a planet without dolphins isn’t worth living on. Needless to say, I already believe this.”
“Thank you. Thank you for all of us. Would swimmers be taking part in this advertising?”
“Not directly. We’d want pronouncements, statements from prominent swimmers like the one the newspapers call the Lawyer. You know who I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Understand that I’m just guessing. We’ll have to hire a ‘public opinions consultant,’ a publicity agent, and let him do the work. And it might be all for nothing.”
“Could we lower the cost by shipping swimmers in Doctor Jansskee’s time retarder field?”
Garner looked utterly astonished. Torrance grinned, recognizing the reaction: Is This A Dolphin Talking? “Yes,” said Garner, nodding to himself. “Right. We won’t even need tanks. Let the humans do the crew work, and keep you frozen until they can find and seed a small sea, like the Mediterranean…”
It went on and on.
“…So it’s settled,” said Garner, a long time later. “Talk it over with the dolphins, especially the ones with power, but don’t make a move until I get back. I want to pick a publicity agent. The right publicity agent.”
“I hate to remind you, but isn’t there a chance you won’t come back?”
“Holy Hannah! I completely forgot.” Garner glanced down at his wrist. “There goes my cat nap. Quick, Charley, start talking about Greenberg. What’s your opinion of him?”
“Prejudiced, I’m afraid. I like him and envy him his hands. He is very alien to me. And yet, perhaps not.” Charley let himself sink to the bottom of the tank. Torrance took the opportunity to clear his throat, which felt like he’d been eating used razor blades.
Charley surfaced and blew steam. “He is not alien. Negative! He thinks a lot like me, because he took contact from me several times before we chanced it the other way around. He is a practical joker—no, that is very far from the true concept. Well, it will have to do. Larrry is a dolphin type of practical joker. Years ago he selected a few of our most famous jokes, old japes which we consider classics, translated them into something he could use as a walker, and then decided not to use them because he might go to prison for it. If he is no longer afraid of prison he might be tempted to play his jokes.”
“Uh huh.”
“Such as something I have not tried yet with a swimmer. I must use the English word: hypnotism.”
Torrance said, “I didn’t get that.”
“Defined as an induced state of monomania.”
“Oh, hypnotism.”
“Larrry has studied it thoroughly, and even tried it out, and for him it works. On a swimmer it might be ineffective.”
“He’s already tried it,” said Garner. “Anything else?”
“Garrnnrr, you must understand that the dolphin gurgle-buzz-SQUEEEE is not truly a practical joke. It is a way of looking at things. Putting a monkey wrench in machinery is often the only way to force somebody to repair, replace, or redesign the machinery. Especially legal or social machinery. Biting off somebody’s fin at exactly the right time can change his whole attitude toward life, often for the better. Larrry understands this.”
“I wish I did. Thanks for your time, Charley.”
“Negative! Negative! Thank you for yours!”
An hour to the long jump. Luke’s throat felt well used. He might still have time for a fifteen-minute cat nap, but he’d wake up feeling worse than ever.
He sat in the Struldbrugs’ reading room and thought about Greenberg.
Why had he become an alien? Well, that was easy. With two sets of memories to choose from, he’d naturally chosen the identity most used to sorting itself out from other identities. But why cling to it? He must know by now that he was not the Sea Statue. And he’d had a happy life as Larry Greenberg.
His wife was something to envy—and she loved him. According to Dr. Snyder, he was stable, well adjusted. He liked his work. He thought of himself as something special.
But the Sea Statue was all alone in the universe, the last of its race, marooned among hostiles. The Greenberg Sea Statue had also lost his ability of—well, telepathic hypnosis was close enough.
Any sane person would rather be Greenberg.
Garner thought, I’ll have to assume that Greenberg as Greenberg literally cannot think with the Sea Statue memories in his mind. He must remain the Sea Statue to function at all. Otherwise he’d have at least tried to change back.
But that peculiar arrogance he’d displayed under interrogation. Not—a slave. Not human.
A robot bonged softly next to his ear. Garner turned and read in flowing light on the waiter’s chest: “You are requested to call Mr. Charles Watson at once.”
Chick Watson was fat, with thick lips and a shapeless putty nose. He wore crew-cut, bristly black hair and, at the moment, a gray seventeen-hundred shadow over cheeks and jaw. He had a harmless look. Centered on his desk was a large screen viewer running film at abnormal speed. Not one in a thousand could read that fast.
A buzzer sounded. Chick snapped off the reader and turned on the phone. For a fat man he moved quickly and accurately.
“Here.”
“Lucas Garner calling, sir. Do you want to see him?”
“Desperately.” Chick Watson’s voice belied his appearance. It was a voice of command, a deep, ringing bass.
Luke looked tired. “You wanted me, Chick?”
“Yeah, Garner. I thought you could help me with some questions.”
“Fine, but I’m pressed for time.”
“I’ll make it quick. First, this message from Ceres to Titan Enterprises. The Golden Circle made a takeoff under radio silence yesterday, from Topeka Base, and the Belt intends to submit a bill for tracking. Titan sent the notice here. They say their ship must have been stolen.”
“That’s right. Kansas City has the details. It’s a very complicated story.”
“An hour later the Navy ship Iwo Jima—”
“Also stolen.”
“Any connection with the Sea Statue incident at UCLA?”
“Every connection. Look, Chick—”
“I know, get it from Kansas City. Finally…” Chick fumbled among the spools of film on his desk. His voice was suspiciously mild as he said, “Here it is. Your notification that you’ll be leaving Topeka on a commandeered Navy ship, the Heinlein; departure: Topeka Base at twenty-one hundred; destination: unknown, probably Neptune; purpose: official business. Garner, I always said it would happen, but I never really believed it.”
“I haven’t gone senile, Chick. This is urgent.”
“Fastest attack of senility I ever heard of. What could possibly be urgent enough to get you into space at your age?”
“It’s that urgent.”
“You can’t explain?”
“No time.”
“Suppose I order you not to go.”
“I think that would cost lives. Lots of lives. It could also end human civilization.”
“Melodramatic.”
“It’s the literal truth.”
br /> “Garner, you’re asking me to assume my own ignorance and let you go ahead on your own because you’re the only expert on the situation. Right?”
Hesitation. “I guess that’s right.”
“Fine. I hate making my own decisions. That’s why they put me behind a desk. But, Garner, you must know things Kansas City doesn’t. Why don’t you call me after takeoff? I’ll be studying in the meantime.”
“In case I kick off? Good idea.”
“Don’t let it slip your mind, now.”
“Sure not.”
“And take your vitamins.”
Like a feathered arrow the Golden Circle fell away from the sun. The comparison was hackneyed but accurate, for the giant triangular wing was right at the rear of the ship, with the slender shaft of the fuselage projecting deep into the forward apex. The small forward wings had folded into the sides shortly after takeoff. The big fin was a maze of piping. Live steam, heated by the drive, circled through a generator and through the cooling pipes before returning to start the journey again. Most of the power was fed into the fusion shield of the drive tube. The rest fed the life-support system.
In one respect the “arrow” simile was inexact. The arrow flew sideways, riding the sun-hot torch which burned its belly.
Kzanol roared his displeasure. The cards had failed again! He swept the neat little array between his clublike hands, tapped them into deck formation, and ripped the deck across. Then, carefully, he got to his feet. The drive developed one terran gravity, and he hadn’t quite had time to get used to the extra weight. He sat down at the casino table and dug into the locker underneath. He came out with a new deck, opened it, let the automatic shuffler play with it for a while, then took it out and began to lay it out solitaire style. The floor around him was littered with little pieces of magnetized plastic card.