The Wind Whales of Ishmael v4.0 - rtf

by Farmer, Phillip Jose

  All except Time, Ishmael thought. There have been gods of time, but no name for Time itself. And he thought of that fierce and old man with the ivory leg and the lightning streak down his face and body. Old Ahab, whose doomed pursuit of the white beast with the wrinkled forehead and the crooked jaw had been more than just a desire for vengeance against a dumb animal.

  "All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event -- in the living act, the undoubted deed -- there, some unknown but still unreasoning thing puts forth the moldings of its features from behind the un­reasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask!"

  What the white whale had been to Ahab, he told himself again, time was to Ishmael.

  And the six-inch blade striking to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale was man's mind striving to com­prehend the nature of time and timelessness. It could not be done. It ended with the defeat of the quester, as Ahab's quest had ended. Man could only live as well as he could with the greatest beast, Time, and then go into timelessness, still wondering, still uncomprehend­ing.

  He looked up at the agonizingly slow sun, dying as all things must die. He looked at the great moon hur­tling across the dark blue sky. It was falling, and though it might take a million years yet, it would surely meet the earth some day.

  What then? An end to mankind. An end to all of nature as man knew it. An end to time as man knew it. Why keep fighting when the end was known?

  Namalee, her eyes wide with the shock of his pro­posal to unite with their enemies, had moved closer to him. He put out an arm and drew her to him, though such intimacy in public was repugnant to her people. Poonjakee, embarrassed, turned his face away. The steersman looked upward.

  She was soft and warm and in her was love and the promise of children.

  And that is what keeps mankind going, Ishmael told himself. Though it seems incredible, our children may some day find a way to go to other suns, young stars. And then, someday, when the bright young star is an old red star, to still others. They haven't done so, ap­parently, in the millions of years that have gone by. But with a million years left, or even half a million, or a quarter of a million, mankind has time to beat Time.

  Scan Notes, v4.0: Proofed carefully against DT; italics intact.