The Whale Song Translation: A Voyage of Discovery To Neptune and Beyond

by Howard Steven Pines

  Dmitri sniffed the air and turned his head to see their DUI cellmate sitting on the toilet. “It can’t get any worse than this, Greg,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

  After breakfast, they passed the time playing poker.

  “What were you dreaming about, Andrew?” asked Dmitri, as he dealt the cards for Five Card Draw.

  “No idea, boss.” Andrew looked genuinely surprised.

  “I had my usual recurring dream,” said Greg, “flying through the air with a basketball, like in a Chinese martial arts film, and finishing a slam dunk. Last night I posterized LeBron. The time before that it was Yao Ming.”

  “I envy you, Greg,” replied Dmitri, his voice listless. “I pretty much tossed and turned all night.”

  “Cool, Greg,” replied Tony. “I’ve always wished I could dunk a basketball.”

  “Reminds me of the way Uber posterized our boat yesterday.” Andrew’s cupped hand arced in a giant circle above his head.

  “That’s a great insight, Andrew!” Dmitri’s sudden enthusiasm brought a smile to Greg’s face. “If humans think and dream about flying, then why not whales? Why else would a big-brained, fifty-ton creature breach with such apparent enthusiasm?”

  “Just like big-brained hominids are compelled to pole vault,” added Tony, “or Evel Knievel leapfrogging twenty cars in a Harley.”

  “Or skydivers jumping from airplanes,” said Andrew, “present company excluded, of course.”

  “I often dream I’m a seagull cruising down the coastline,” Tony mused.

  “It’s a pretty universal dream.” Andrew tossed three cards.

  “Makes you wonder if humpbacks have flying dreams too?” said Greg.

  “The dreams of the giant.” Dmitri replaced Andrew’s cards. “I’d give anything to solve that mystery. There’s no stopping us now, Greg. After we get out this mess, let’s plan the next experiment. We now have the tools to begin a legitimate dialogue with the Megapterans.”

  “I’m happy to see you back in the saddle, my friend.” Greg traded two cards. “By the way, besides your infernal snoring, you talked in your sleep last night. Do you remember the dream?”

  Dmitri just smiled. Revealing a straight flush, his comrades shook their heads in mock consternation. The poker game resumed with elevated spirits, everyone taking turns cracking jokes.

  After lunch, the guard returned to announce their visitor had arrived. Only Dmitri, however, had been hustled out of the cell, ushered down the hall, and led into a temporary visitation chamber. To his relief, the familiar figure of Chris Gorman stood in the middle of the same room where he had been processed the previous evening. The PICES director’s haggard appearance, however, tempered Dmitri’s optimism. As they shook hands, the sight of the guard watching from across the room, with a hand resting on his holstered weapon, was most distressing. “It’s great to see you, Chris. We were beginning to feel abandoned.”

  “I’m sorry, Dmitri. It’s not that we forgot about you. Far from it. We’re all working overtime, late into the night. It’s not easy to arrange bail on a weekend in Maui. Apparently the judge is out of town on a fishing trip. I was also on the phone with your mentor. I’m bushed.”

  “McPinsky!” Dmitri’s forlorn expression vanished, and he straightened up. “Tell me about him, please. No, wait. First tell me about Melanie, Seema, and Lila. They’re okay, right?”

  “I just visited them a few minutes ago and they’re holding up pretty well. I’m concerned about Seema, though. She’s taking it harder than the other two. She’s genuinely worried about deportation and being banished by her family.”

  “Oh, no, what have I done?” Dmitri moaned. “I fell right into Prescott’s trap and jeopardized my colleagues’ careers.”

  “Oh, yeah. Prescott popped up on the morning news. He tried to disassociate SoCalSci University from what he called Dr. Dmitri’s lawless Dr. Dolittle fantasy.”

  Convinced his career was a shambles and that a similar fate awaited his SoCalSci compatriots, Dmitri’s head slumped to his chest. And what about Melanie? Who knew how long she would be separated from Mark?

  “Things might not be as bleak as you think,” said Gorman.

  “How can you possibly say that?”

  “Two reasons. First, don’t forget about yesterday’s amazing discoveries, especially the finale when Uber lit the water with his voice.”

  “It was amazing.”

  “His vocalizations were more dynamic than any humpback I’ve ever heard.”

  “And the second reason?”

  “Let me update you about that phone call to Ivy Tech. McPinsky hinted at an exciting new development in the analysis of Uber’s vocalizations.”

  “Anything to do with Greg’s 4D theory?”

  “Not that. He did mention he’d sent that data to another university for analysis.”

  “Ouch. That’s not like McPinsky. If he thought there was anything to it, he would have kept it in house. So what’s the good news?”

  “McPinsky alluded to an entirely new theory that explains how the humpbacks communicate, but he said he needs visual proof to confirm his hypothesis.”

  “Huh?”

  “Remember when we were saved by the bubble net during the sonar attack?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “When I told him I’d filmed the whale’s movements during the attack, he asked me to upload the video file to YouTube. He’s chiefly interested in the pod’s formations and patterns when they seemed to react to Uber’s singing.”

  “Yeah, that was one hell of a team bubble net. Saved our butts. How were you able to secure that videotape with the Coast Guard hanging all over us?”

  Gorman smiled. “No problem. Lila slipped the memory card into my hand during a farewell hug.”

  “Cool, like an MI-6 secret drop. But why send the file to YouTube instead of directly to McPinsky?”

  “He warned me it was too dangerous. He’s certain that both his snail mail and electronic communications are being bugged by some government mucky-muck, so best get it into the public domain. How’s that for cloak-and-dagger intrigue?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me at all. Whoever they are, they’ve gone overboard to deprive us of our constitutional rights.”

  Gorman tried to suppress a yawn. “So it took me nearly an hour to upload the file. McPinsky wasn’t specific. Just that there might be an intriguing connection between the video and the audio data.”

  “So all we can do now is wait and hope that McPinsky can come up with a miracle. What about bail?”

  “This is Saturday morning. If I can locate the bail judge, we might spring all of you either today or tomorrow. If not, you’ll have to wait until the courts are in session on Monday morning. Just keep the faith.”

  The guard stepped forward, signaling the end of the meeting. Gorman handed Dmitri a business card and said, “If you haven’t heard from me by tomorrow afternoon, call me at this number. Oh, and by the way, Dmitri, you don’t have to worry about Melanie. I mean, it’s long finished between us.” Gorman’s voice sounded oddly off-key, leaving Dmitri to wonder if Melanie’s old flame still pined for her. “I’m pretty certain she’s stuck on you.” He paused. “You don’t have to worry about Mark, either. He’s fine with me.”

  “Thanks, Chris.” When Dmitri extended his right arm, Gorman reciprocated with a surprising bear hug. Despite the friendly gesture, Dmitri couldn’t shake the suspicion that the PICES director knew more about their predicament than he was willing to admit.

  COSMOLOGY 101

  Ivy Tech University, Upstate New York—two days later

  “Is everything all right, Professor?”

  McPinsky tapped the miniature microphone pinned to his jacket lapel. When the overhead speakers echoed their amplified reply, he nodded to the stage manager. After the man had disappeared and he was certain that nobody was watching him, the professor peeked out from behind the pleated folds of the decorative curtain drawn back to the edge
of the stage. As the last of the students and other interested persons trickled into Ivy Tech’s jam-packed main lecture hall, he felt the familiar buzz of anticipation that preceded his public talks. It was followed by a fleeting regret that these events were less frequent than when he’d been an international luminary.

  It was the end of the term for Professor Emeritus Theodosius McPinsky’s “Seminar on Cosmology” offering in Ivy Tech’s Special Studies Program. For ten weeks, the lectures had covered the course curriculum on the various theories about the origins and the history of the universe. The final exam would test the students about the Standard Model of particle physics, the Big Bang Theory, and the most recent entry: String Theory and the multiverse. This final lecture, however, was something different. Following in the footsteps of Einstein’s lifelong pursuit of the elusive Unified Field Theory, McPinsky would reveal the latest developments in his own controversial theory for addressing the Holy Grail of physics, the Theory of Everything.

  McPinsky was always psyched up for this occasion. Now, however, with the unfolding of the recent events in Maui, he harbored mixed feelings about the timing of tonight’s obligatory engagement. Yesterday he’d been heartened by Gorman’s report that the entire Research in Paradise team had been released on bail. At this very moment, Dmitri, Greg, Seema, and Andrew were jetting back to California. He fervently hoped he could be there to offer support for their disciplinary hearing with the SoCalSci authorities. He’d also wanted to share the breaking news about the latest communication discovery by his Ivy Tech colleagues. After their miserable weekend in jail, it would definitely lift the team’s spirits. Now, however, he needed to block out all distractions and channel his energy into this prior commitment.

  Tonight’s address marked McPinsky’s third annual end-of-term lecture at Ivy Tech. The number of students enrolled in this extremely challenging course never exceeded twenty. Due to the professor’s celebrity status, however, the much-anticipated presentation was a magnet to inquisitive minds both from the campus community and the local populace. Although many struggled to comprehend the arcane subject matter, they were beguiled by McPinsky’s passion and the audacity of his worldview. Due to popular demand, the grand-finale lecture had been relocated to the main campus auditorium, with capacity exceeding seven hundred.

  In contrast to his waning national prominence, McPinsky’s reputation in the Ivy Tech community had soared to rock-star status. He was lionized as a genius and a visionary by his academic disciples. Many had queued outside in the frosty weather for two hours before the doors had opened. Despite the notoriety of his controversial theories, a contingent of Ivy Tech faculty members populated the first five rows of reserved seats. Even his detractors felt compelled to attend, since they too were curious about his latest paradigm-busting speculations.

  McPinsky’s dramatic entrance from the stage wing to the podium was greeted by a torrential outpouring of cheers, whistles, and applause. Since this was, in fact, a class lecture, McPinsky had requested they skip the obligatory guest-speaker introduction. He marched resolutely over to the podium, unfurled a sheath of notes, and placed them on the table. Gazing about, he was amused that some of his younger devotees had mimicked his “sixties” fashion statement. They sported paisley vests as they stood and clapped. McPinsky’s image as the sage scientist and distinguished professor did not disappoint. In stark contrast to his clean-shaven, sober visage, his salt-and-pepper, shoulder-length hair and bushy eyebrows projected an Einsteinian persona.

  After he’d raised both arms to still the crowd, the video cameras could be heard humming into action for the spectacle which was certain to become a popular cult selection on the YouTube hit parade. McPinsky dispensed with the customary introductory greetings and gripped the podium as if he were seizing the audience by its lapels. As he was on the verge of launching into his scientific sermon, a loud bang rifled throughout the hall, causing many to flinch. To the accompaniment of nervous snickers, a crimson-faced youth retrieved a water bottle spinning on the floor.

  For the past three years, an undercurrent of tension had gripped McPinsky’s public appearances. Attendees suffered the indignity of having their backpacks searched. The contentious nature of the professor’s lectures and publications had provoked threats from the righteous fanatics who feared his dangerous, godless ideas. Because his scientific-existentialist manifesto had been co-opted, without his blessing, by eco-militants, he’d been the unwitting victim of guilt-by-association smears. Though an avowed pacifist, McPinsky’s refusal to condemn the Radical Ultra-Secular Humanist group’s tactics had thrust him into the crosshairs of fundamentalist outrage.

  During a recent interview, he’d been asked if his grand quest had been worth the risks to his career and to his personal safety. “Yes,” he replied emphatically, and added that he wanted to make science right—to complete Einstein’s work. Beyond science, he explained, he hoped to address humanity’s great existential crises. Privately, even he had to admit that a breakthrough of the type he’d sought would exact sweet revenge upon his many critics and enemies.

  Now, as McPinsky’s gaze swept across the sea of faces, he focused on the doe-eyed expressions of the students who had entrusted him with their hopes for a better future and their faith in his vision. For their sake, he could not fail. Now, finally, this gift from the gods of science—the whale communication discovery—was indeed the breakthrough he’d long sought, the confirmation of a life’s work. He yearned to share it, here and now, but since the key data was still under analysis, it would be premature to do so. The time would come soon enough. His resolve restored, he forged ahead.

  “The human race is in the dumps, afflicted by two crippling existential crises: alienation and isolation. On the one hand,” he raised an arm, “because of our emergence as a symbolic species, we’ve been expelled from the Garden of Eden to suffer the angst of our breach from the natural world. On the other hand,” he raised the other arm, “we endure collective loneliness born of our inability to engage in interspecies dialogue, terrestrial or otherwise.”

  McPinsky’s impassioned voice reverberated in the historic wood-paneled hall.

  “Scientific paradigms, philosophy, and religion have failed to rebalance the equations linking humanity with the natural order. In the perpetual yearning for equilibrium, humankind staggers like a drunkard searching for answers from visionaries, sages, and even from demagogues. To my mind, the solution to the problem is obvious. We must invoke the scientific method to stabilize these binding ties.”

  McPinsky left the safe harbor of the lectern and journeyed out to the lip of the stage, the better to bond with the audience.

  “For ten weeks, I’ve presented the best theories physics has to offer to explain the origins of the universe and the theory of everything. Yet we still have no satisfying answers. The Standard Model is incomplete and the four forces are not fully unified. Indeed, conjectures about phantom concepts such as dark matter and dark energy are desperation measures to salvage an explanation about our ever-expanding, self-destructing universe.”

  McPinsky was particularly interested in the body language of the two preeminent Ivy Tech physicists seated in the front row. They did not disappoint him, shaking their heads in dismay and muttering to one another. He smiled at them and plowed ahead.

  “What about the string theorists? In order for their theory to be correct, we must inhabit an eleven-dimensional universe. And not just one universe. Indeed, there are an infinite number of bubble universes that comprise the multiverse.” McPinsky unveiled his hallmark sardonic grin. “The string theorists have guaranteed their own job security into perpetuity for there is no experimental test of the validity of their rather entertaining assertions which, by the way, appear slick and glossy on PBS specials and elsewhere in the popular media.”

  The irony in his voice was not lost on the audience. McPinsky heard sporadic giggling balloon into pervasive laughter, striking him as the comic equivalent of a super-inflat
ionary phase transition. He returned to the podium and resumed. “Now, I ask you, what is the criterion by which the archetypal ‘theory of everything’ is judged to be comprehensive and complete?”

  He paused and, with his middle finger, poked his glasses back in place most emphatically. As always, they’d slid down the slippery slope of his nose. “First and foremost, it’s universally acknowledged that the explanation must satisfy the criterion of Occam’s razor. It must be simple and elegant, preferably a single equation which unifies the four fundamental forces of nature. My assertion is that it must also describe just about everything else, including the information-based structures ubiquitous in our daily lives and everywhere else in the universe. Of utmost importance, it should provide the explanation which enables our species to reconnect with the creative process that birthed our universe and all of its inhabitants. This unifying principle would proclaim—”

  He slammed a fist onto the podium, startling those in the front row, and intoned with a rhythmic, staccato emphasis on each and every syllable, “‘You are a child of the universe no less than the atoms and the stars; you have a right to be here,’ and I would proclaim this in no uncertain mathematical terms.”

  A covey of students leapt to their feet, pumped their arms in the air, and chanted in frenzied unison, “McPinsky, McPinsky, McPinsky—” The attending Ivy Tech administrators wore expressions of incredulity.

  McPinsky gestured once again but he couldn’t completely stanch the crowd’s enthusiasm. He was an impatient man, so he continued above the buzz. “As you all know by now, I was inspired by physicist David Bohm’s theories about universal quantum wholeness. As such, I’m a firm believer that information is the intrinsic stuff of the cosmos, more so than elementary forces which, as I shall soon demonstrate, are derivative. In fact, there can be no unified field theory unless the concept of information is woven into the fabric of nature’s fundamental laws.”

  McPinsky welcomed the expressions of disbelief glaring back at him from some of the distinguished faculty members in the front rows. His confidantes knew that his iconoclastic resolve was fired by such arrogance, so he pressed on. “Since information is, by definition, the measureable distribution of energy and matter in space, I want to introduce you to a trio of radical conceptualizations which form the basis of the new theory.”