Cachalot

by Alan Dean Foster

  She dragged herself to a port, saw the greatest of all the CunsnuC nearing them. "We can't help how we think!" she cried out, wondering if her mouth was echoing the workings of her mind. "You can't kill us all just to keep us from thinking!"

  There was no reply.

  They were at eighteen hundred meters and rising, and the two minnows swimming near the light of the CunsnuC were adult catodons. They moved unafraid of the mass that dwarfed them, knowing somehow it could not hurt them. None of the toothed fears a plankton-eater, she thought, no matter its size or alien-ness.

  A final, despairing mental shriek echoed through her empty head, skidded like a needle along her bones. Then the last CunsnuC raced for the bottom ooze, turning into a distant red star that soon was swallowed by the concealing fathoms…

  She blinked, wondering how long she had been out. Merced leaned back in his chair, hopefully no more than unconscious. Sam lay draped over the console, breathing heavily. Hwoshien sat stiffly against the wall nearby, taking in long, deep breaths, reassuring his body. He was smooth when inhaling, shuddered when he exhaled, but at least he was in control of himself. Her eyes hunted for Rachael.

  Her daughter lay on the floor, eyes staring blankly at the roof. Painfully, Cora half slid, half fell, from the chair and crawled across the deck, passing the now quiescent neurophon. Its energy pack was burned out. She was surprised to discover that it was her body that ached, not her mind. Faint echoes of that last massive scream still fluttered around in her thoughts like dying butterflies. But they no longer affected her.

  "Rachael?" She put both hands on the girl's shoulders, shook her. The effort made her nauseous, and she had to stop and rest before trying again. "Rachael!" Muscles began to move under her fingers. The engine was warming up.

  Gradually the eyes focused, turned left, "Mother? We were killing it. I could feel it dying."

  "I know, Rachael." She cradled the girl's head in her arms. "We all could. We shared the pain it was feeling. But… rather it than us." She reached back with a hand, pulled the neurophon over. "They said they were delicate. They told us. All mass and no bite." She winced, and the hand went to her head. "No, not no bite. An indirect one. I'm afraid your instrument is burned out. It saved our lives. I'll buy you a new one. The best." She smiled. "And you can play and practice all you wish, and I'll support you to the best of my ability and bankroll."

  "I don't know," the girl murmured. "So much hurt. I don't know when I'll be able to play again. That pain will always be with me when I try to play."

  'The memory of the pain, and it will fade," Cora corrected her.

  "We'll work something out with them." It was Hwoshien. His body had not moved, but his head turned to face them. "They have most of this world, most of the world-ocean to dwell in. We use only tiny, isolated patches of the surface. They're just stubborn. We'll reach some kind of accommodation. They have no choice now." He unfolded his legs, stood easily.

  "We don't need the catodons' help. Neurophonic projectors much larger than that one will keep these creatures under control, will disrupt their power over the baleens. If they insist on fighting, we can dispose of them. The killing of any intelligent alien life-form is prohibited, except when attacked and no alternative is available. We'll give them that alternative. If they elect not to accept…" He shrugged meaningfully.

  "But surely you wouldn't?…" Cora began.

  "I have several thousand people dead, many million credits of property destroyed. We require a minuscule portion of this world. They and the Cetacea are welcome to the rest. I have no sympathy where such all-encompassing greed is involved."

  "I'm sure something can be arranged," Cora replied. "Mental shielding that will keep our thoughts from them, for example. If only they'd revealed themselves and their problem to us earlier, peacefully.

  They're unique, utterly unique, Hwoshien. The first intelligent invertebrates we've ever encountered, possibly the most evolved of their line in the universe. They must be studied and learned from. Not fought with."

  "That's only a last alternative I was outlining," Hwoshien reminded her, the very tone of his voice indicating that he was merely being businesslike, not bloodthirsty.

  "Most coelenterates are primitive, and these creatures are at the opposite end of that scale. It's almost as if they've skipped an entire chapter of evolution. Their physical and mental structures are incredibly complex. What do they think about down there in the eternal dark? What is there to stimulate the development of such advanced minds at such depths? I doubt they possess vision as we know it. Possibly hearing. They are true colony creatures on a scale undreamed of. They must be dealt with peacefully so that they can be studied!"

  "You can study them if you want to." Mataroreva was adjusting controls. "We're almost up. Me for the light."

  "We will." Cora suddenly saw where her thoughts had been leading, and was not disappointed in them. "I will. We can be friends."

  "Do you want to end up like poor Hazaribagh and his people? The CunsnuC were studying them," he shot back.

  "Would you care?"

  He turned away, moved in a manner that might have signified anything, an indecipherable gesture. But at least he had responded to the question—affirmatively, she preferred to think.

  "That was caused by fear," she argued with him. "The universe is full of otherwise benign creatures that can be induced to kill out of fear. They must be, can be, studied." She looked back over her shoulder.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do, Mother." Rachael glanced over at Merced, who regarded her encouragingly. "I don't know what I'm going to do. Not now."

  "Think about it. Take your time," Cora urged. "I rushed you, maybe in the wrong direction. Maybe in the right. If you decide to continue on your present course of study, I could still use an assistant."

  "We'll see." She was still looking at Merced.

  Natural light, fresh and invigorating, poured through the submersible's ports. Huge shapes swarmed patiently around them as the catodons escorted them the rest of the way to the surface. Their great bulks came close to, but never actually touched, the rising craft's hull.

  Then a black and white shape was pressing against one port. Mataroreva pressed his own face against the glassalloy from the inside, whale and man separated by a modest transparency.

  Cora watched them closely.

  "I think it's admirable," Merced said to her.

  "What is?"

  "Your willingness to remain here to study so dangerous a life-form. I'm sure Commonwealth Administration will concur, and will give you all the support it can. The CunsnuC are as alien as any life we've yet encountered. You'll need funding."

  "I can provide whatever modest resources—" Hwoshien started to say.

  Merced cut him off. He did not have to speak only as a mere biologist now. "You can do what you wish, Mr. Commissioner, but it's not necessary. I'll see that sufficient credit is provided."

  Cora looked at him appraisingly. "Thank you. For all their size, these creatures fear us more than we fear them. What is needed here is understanding."

  The submersible broke the surface. Mataroreva hurried to the double lock, opened the bottom one, and squeezed his bulk through. Merced glanced out the port a last time, was surprised to see no sign of the catodons. Perhaps they already knew what had happened in the Deep below and had gone on their nomadic way, indifferent to whatever the surviving humans might have to say. So they had departed, secure in their vast, contemplative indifference that the CunsnuC now posed no threat to their way of life. Had left to think their thoughts and to advance their migratory civilization in whatever manner they thought best. Who are truly the strangers? Merced mused. The CunsnuC, or these huge, wallowing creatures related to us by blood and evolution?

  Hwoshien followed Mataroreva out. Cora was next, then Rachael, cradling her neurophon. Merced watched them ascend, enjoying the sight of Rachael climbing and smelling the fresh, oh so sweet air above. A faint splash reached him and he
turned to the port.

  Sam Mataroreva was cavorting with the two orcas, twisting and turning like a seal outside the submersible. He clutched Latehoht's fin as she darted past, hung on as she bucked and squirmed in the water, trying to throw him off. There was more here to report on besides the CunsnuC, Merced mused. Cachalot was changing its inhabitants, as any world did. This aqueous globe offered more than exports and oceanographic studies. Changes in ways of thinking were taking place here that might have far-reaching effects on all humanxkind. It might be well to encourage this trend.

  "Hey!" Rachael leaned down and in. "You going to stay down there forever, Pucara?"

  "Be right out." He watched her withdraw, leaving the flash of an inviting smile lingering in his memory. He thought of their previous weeks together and of how the CunsnuC had almost destroyed the friendship he had worked so diligently to build. Intimacy was easily attained, but friendship—that was a rare find.

  He grinned. This was a world for enjoying oneself, for relaxation as well as research. It was time for some of the former.

  Confident in himself and in the report he would file with his bureau, he started to climb out of the submersible. Waiting was the bright sun of Cachalot. Nearby drifted the suprafoil, anxious faces crowding its railing. Soon Hwoshien would make a broadcast of his own, and anxiety would vanish from the faces of this world's citizens for the first time in months.

  His wave was for those on the ship, but his eyes were for Rachael.

  Far below danced vast spherical forms that pulsed and glowed. They were akin to planets in their shape and motion, yet they orbited not a sun but a common thought. They conversed in a manner incomprehensible to man or cetacean, conversed in a manner fashioned by darkness, shaped by pressure and isolation. They were discussing the development of a new kind of specialized internal polyp, much as any manufacturer might discuss an addition to his plant.

  They knew it would take time. That could not be helped. They would work and wait, until the new polyp was ready to perform its function. Until then there would be enforced tolerance of Those Above. Afterward… afterward, they would see.

  Having thus decided upon a biologic course of action, the CunsnuC commenced an addition to the inventory of their minds.

  Above and far distant floated a life-form that thought in a manner incomprehensible to man or CunsnuC. Lumpjaw, whose water name was DeMalthiAzur-of-the-Maizeen and who was elder among his people, had slipped away from them to think quietly on portentous matters. And to consider.

  More men would come, and the free-thinking stretches of sea would shrink still further. Not that he felt they would break the laws (at least not right away), but mankind had displayed a disconcerting tendency throughout his history to circumvent them. And the men of today were not the men of tomorrow. Who could tell what changes they might propose?

  Then there was the matter of the CunsnuC. Their control over the baleen had demonstrated a disturbing capacity for dangerous mischief. In the sanctuary of their Deeps they might concoct further trouble for the Cetacea.

  DeMalthiAzur-of-the-Maizeen let pass the catodonian equivalent of a sigh. Why must existence be so complicated, he mused, when all one desired from life was time to think? Of the men he had no worry, for the cousins the orca would stay near them, professing friendship for them and dislike for the catodon, and report whatever they were about. Smartest of all was the catodon, he thought, but cleverest was the orca.

  The CunsnuC were more of a problem, and were likely to present the greater problem for all that they were confined to their abyssal home. So the people of the sea had much progress to make, out of sight of humanxkind and CunsnuC, out of sight of even their massive but slow-thinking relatives the baleen.

  Perhaps that progress would be part of the Great Journey. Perhaps it would constitute only a digression. But it was necessary to insure preservation of the peace.

  Time, the old whale thought. Never enough time. So much wasted time. But it was vital, this digression. Of all the creatures of Earth, only man had mastered the ability to travel through environments hostile to his kind. That was ever his great advantage. That, and manipulative digits. The Cetacea had only their minds. They could not match the simian flexibility of man, nor the mental approaches of the CunsnuC.

  Oh, well. Perhaps in time. For now, the Cetacea, led by the catodons, would have to find another path, would have to improve the path they had chosen to insure their survival and their way of life.

  It was time to practice, he thought. Straining his enormous brain and nervous system, DeMalthiAzur-of-the-Maizeen made the Shift.

  How strange it makes the world look, he mused. There was much new to think about, much that might be learned to surprise both man and CunsnuC when the time came. The effort was easier this time, grew simpler with each successful Shift.

  Better to return now to the pod, to think with them. Thinking alone cleared the brain but became lifeless and dull all too soon. He longed for the mental companionship and the joint progress made while sharing the Great Journey. He levitated a little more, regarding the water below and the startled icthyorniths that soared in his shadow.

  Turning, the great whale sought his companions as all eighty tons of his gray-brown bulk flew awkwardly but with increasing assurance toward the setting sun.