Children of the Old Star

by David Lee Summers

  Retrieving the tea, Ellis sat thinking about the whales. “Do you think the whales could help me understand how to talk to the Cluster?"

  "It's hard to say what the whales can help you understand.” The old man scratched silver stubble on his chin. “If anyone can, though, it's Richard. I'd talk to him. Your father was always fond of that old bull."

  Ellis sipped the tea. “But even if the whales help me understand,” he said after a moment. “I'll need to get back to space to talk to the Cluster. There might be a reasonable amount of Ellis money, but it's definitely not enough to purchase a space ship."

  "Oh, you'll find a ship,” said the old man. “Like your father, it's in your nature. It would be impossible for you to stay away from space or the sea.” Ellis looked at the old man quizzically. “Oh, it might not be a Navy ship, but you'll find something. It won't take long before you'll need to get another job as it is."

  Ellis sat up straight. “What do you mean? Last I knew there was pretty much enough money in the family accounts to let me retire even at my age."

  The old man opened his arms and gestured around the shack. “At one time, my family could have claimed that as well.” Sitting back, the old man rummaged around in a pile of papers and retrieved a jar full of one-inch square brown patches. From his pocket, he pulled an ornately carved meerschaum pipe reddened from age and use. He crumbled one of the patches into the pipe and lit it. “Taxes are going up all the time."

  "Surely they wouldn't do anything to the property while Mom runs Maria Mitchell,” said Ellis.

  "Your mother is a talented woman,” said Coffin. “However, director of the association is largely an honorary position. If she stays away too long, they'll find someone else connected to an old Nantucket family to take her place. If the Association is too broke, they'll let her go and not bother to replace her. The Maria Mitchell Association is in danger of vanishing as we all are."

  "The islanders will band together,” said Ellis, a horrified frown forming. “We can't be kicked off our land."

  "It's happened almost everywhere else that tourists love. Look at what happened in Santa Fe, centuries ago; Martha's Vineyard not too long ago.” The old man held out the jar. Ellis retrieved one of the patches and sniffed it tentatively. “Navy Flake tobacco,” grunted the old man.

  Putting down the teacup, Ellis retrieved the pipe from his pocket. Thinking about Coffin's words, he awkwardly crumbled the tobacco into the pipe and tried lighting it. It didn't light well at first, but he tamped it down some more and another application of the lighter got it going. The tobacco was somewhat harsh, but that fit Ellis’ mood perfectly. He nodded approvingly.

  "If you like that, I've got twenty ounces around here somewhere. I could give you some.” Coffin smiled.

  Ellis nodded. “I'd like that.” Finally he leaned forward again. “How long do you think I have?"

  "Until what?"

  "Until the money runs out?"

  Coffin took a long draw on the pipe stem and exhaled slowly. “It's hard to say. At the rate they're raising taxes, I'll probably have to move off the island before you do. I'd say it's more like years than months, if you're lucky and your mother does return."

  "What would you do, if you had to move off the island?” asked Ellis, his brow knitted.

  "I'd probably die,” said the old man, looking out his window at the moors and ocean, beyond. The two men sat, smoking in silence for much of the rest of the afternoon.

  * * * *

  Clyde McClintlock was not completely sure how he ended up in a hover traveling nearly 200 miles per hour over sparkling white sand. More specifically, he knew the sequence of events, but was not sure why Suki Ellis and Manuel Raton of all people would want to break him out of prison. After all, Manuel had been the opposing general in the campaign against New Granada. Likewise, Suki was the mother of the man responsible for his defeat. Having them risk their lives made no sense to him. At this point, he did not value his own life enough for all this trouble. However, he was not in a position to question Suki and Manuel's motivation. Instead, he was busy keeping his head out of range of hepler fire and stray bullets. While he didn't attribute much value to his life, he wasn't about to just throw it away either.

  "Only fifty more miles to Roanoke!” called Raton, from the driver's seat.

  Fire knelt in the back seat, holding an ancient rifle, pointed to the rear. She was carefully watching three hovers close in, in tight formation. The hovers kicked up great clouds of white sand. Their own hover was wheezing from sand in the intake. “They're gaining, but slowly,” she said as a red hepler pulse buzzed beside her head. Clutching the rifle butt tightly in one hand, she grabbed one of the wooden-handled heplers from the seat with her free hand and aimed. Gently, she pushed the trigger with her thumb. As she held down the trigger, several electric-red bolts of light flew from the end of the fragile-looking weapon, striking the left most of the pursuing hovers. A shower of sparks flew up from the impact, but the vehicle kept on coming.

  "Damn,” cursed Fire. “I wish they'd get close enough so I could fire a round from the rifle. That would slow them down."

  Clyde said a silent prayer. At first, he wasn't sure to whom. He had never been a very religious man. As his lips moved, he realized the last time he had said such a prayer. It was when the Cluster had come into orbit around Sufiro, shortly after his troops had been defeated. He hoped the Cluster or someone might perform the same type of miracle all over again, letting Suki and Manuel get to the neutral territory of Roanoke safely.

  Clyde's thoughts were interrupted by the loud report of the rifle. “Got one!” called Fire. Colonel McClintlock raised his head just far enough to see the smoking remains of one of the pursuing hovers. He could see two figures thrown to the side, bringing themselves to their feet.

  "Ay carajo, Señora,” shouted Raton. “Just how close are those bastards getting?"

  "Close enough!” Fire discharged another round. “Damn! I missed!"

  "I think I see the Roanoke border!” Raton put on a burst of speed, throwing Clyde hard into the seat. For several heartbeats he held his breath, then looked up in time to see a hepler pulse whiz by his head.

  Fire pushed him back down. “I told you to stay clear!” She reloaded the rifle and fired again.

  "It looks like the cavalry's here!” called Raton. Clyde looked up to see a line of rag-tag New Granadan soldiers lining the border to Roanoke. As soon as the hover was past, the militia people fired on the pursuing hovers.

  "It looks like they've taken the hint,” said Fire as the hovers turned back across the desert. Raton slowed the hover to a reasonable speed and brought it into the small coastal village of Roanoke.

  Clyde had never been to the village before, but he had known about the quiet colony that sat across the desert from his own country. A small religious sect had founded Roanoke nearly ten years before Tejo. The land itself was worthless. The coastline was even worse. Consequently, the Tejans never bothered the settlers there.

  Raton pulled the hover to a stop by a two-story inn on the seashore. A stout, clean-shaven man wearing a black shirt and black trousers approached the hover. “You know we do not condone violence here,” he said, indignant.

  "No one was hurt, Reverend Burroughs,” reassured Fire whisking her long black hair behind her shoulders.

  "What about the hover I saw destroyed?” asked the one-time colonel. “That was pretty damned violent."

  "All for show, Clyde,” said Manuel, patting the colonel on the back with strong hands.

  Clyde stood blinking for several minutes. He began putting pieces of the puzzle together. “That escape did seem awfully easy."

  "You call driving like that easy?” Raton put his hands on his hips. His mustache drooped. “Next time, get your own butt out of jail!"

  "So, is this what you meant by ‘taking me out of the equation?'” Clyde's brow wrinkled.

  "Exactly,” said Fire, leading Clyde inside the cheerily lit inn. Reve
rend Burroughs escorted the group to a small round table.

  "If you had simply been released,” said Manuel, tapping his fingers on the table. “It would have been the same as if you had been given no sentence at all.” Manuel's grin grew big and fierce. “Now, you are a bandito, on the run from the law. If you let yourself get caught, it's a whole new ball game. They can throw the book at you without worrying what the people think."

  "They'll simply charge you with breaking out of jail,” winked Fire. “A pretty serious crime in Tejo, I hear."

  Clyde put his head in his hands. “I'm not exactly difficult to find, sitting across the desert from Tejo."

  "That's if anyone actually bothers to look,” said Fire.

  "And if they look too hard, they might wind up in the same mess they were in before.” Manuel leaned across the table. “It's easier for them if you stay ‘on the run.’”

  A waitress came to the table, distributed glasses of water and left.

  "I see,” said Clyde. “But, why Roanoke?"

  "Here,” said Reverend Burroughs, “they will have to go through a messy extradition procedure to get you. You are welcome to stay or go as you wish. If you stay, our only price is that you learn something of our faith."

  Clyde thought about the Cluster and his prayers. “I could use some instruction in faith, about now, Reverend,” he said meekly. He looked back to Fire. “Back at the prison, you said there was something you wanted to ask me?"

  "I want to know why you led the military coup,” said Fire, drumming her fingers on the table. “I want to know if the Cluster communicated with you."

  Clyde McClintlock's bright eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open, as he sat back in the chair.

  * * * *

  John Mark Ellis careened southward from Nantucket aboard a modest boat, first purchased by his grandfather Zechariah. The little boat had a screw propeller that was designed to make as little noise in the water as possible, but give good speed. The boat also had antigraviton generators and could rise out of the water if there was need for absolute silence, but there was a cost in velocity.

  Ellis began to feel like himself as the wind whistled through his hair. He felt the salt sting his face through his freshly trimmed beard. Smoke from his pipe trailed behind him. He felt the exhilaration of Ahab, hunting the whale. Except, this time, he merely wanted a chat.

  On the boat's computer, Ellis checked the location of the Atlantic sperm whale feeding grounds and made for them. While he knew the old whale, Richard, was a lone bull, it was likely he would not be too far from any large pods of females.

  Setting the boat on automatic pilot, Ellis went into the cabin below. He attached a simple metal pan to a latch on the stove. As he turned on the heat, the boat lurched to the side suddenly, causing him to grab onto the counter. He shook his head, finding it a bit difficult to regain his sea legs. He was, after all, used to space ships and their graviton generators. Unless one was involved in a jump or the ship's momentum was suddenly changed by hepler fire, the ship's decks were rock solid.

  After letting the pan heat, he tossed in some potatoes and sausage. He followed that, after a time, with some eggs. Again, the tiny boat lurched, and his hand fell near the heat. Like lightning, he pulled his hand from the fire and sucked on it for a moment. Finally, he removed the small, dented metal pan from the heat. Ellis took the whole conglomeration with him to the tiny wooden table where he sat down to eat.

  After eating, he reminded himself to secure the pan under the sink so he could clean it later. From there, he walked across the three-foot wide hallway to the room with his narrow bunk. Sitting on the bunk, he reached across to a white plastic chest. Opening it, he retrieved a translator. He checked the black band and earpiece, making sure it was in working order. Finally, he put the band around his neck, securing it firmly, but not too tightly and placed the earpiece in his ear.

  Ellis returned to the wheel, atop the cabin and checked his compass and his latitude. He nodded silent approval as he realized he was near the sperm whale feeding grounds. Using binoculars, he scanned the horizon. He grimaced when he didn't see anything. Waiting five minutes, he scanned again. On the southeastern horizon, he thought he saw a glimmer. Still looking through the binoculars, he turned toward the shimmering. He cursed as the boat lurched again, driving the binoculars against his forehead.

  Rubbing his injured head, Ellis, kept his eyes on the sight as it came near enough to see. He was relieved to see the forward-pointing spray of a sperm whale spout. After watching several minutes, he saw, at first five, then seven, maybe eight spouts. A little disappointed that he hadn't found Richard, he was happy to see that he had located those who could help him. The spouts disappeared after a few minutes as the whales dove under the water to search for food.

  Ellis slowed his craft as he approached the location of the whales. As he looked over the side at the dark depths, a mighty crash sounded from behind him. Ellis turned in time to be knocked over by the spray of a spout. He heard the patterned clicking of sperm whale speech. The clicking was rapid and arrhythmic almost like radio static. Only an experienced ear could hear the anger in the voice. Struggling to his feet, Ellis turned on the translator device.

  "You disturb the children with your motor, human. Be gone!” The translator said the words, but gave none of the finesse that could be heard in the clicks. Looking over the side of the boat, Ellis could see the ten-foot long black head of a mother sperm whale.

  "Forgive me,” called Ellis. He could hear the clicks issuing from the translator as it rendered his words into the language of the whales. Ellis rushed to the wheel and activated the antigraviton generators of the tiny boat. The whale let out another spout.

  Another immense, black head arose from the deep. “The cycle continues,” it said. “Be gone!"

  "I'm looking for one of your kind.” Ellis held his hands over his head protecting himself from another onslaught of spray. The broad head of the first whale disappeared, replaced by the arched form of its glimmering back. Smaller forms began to appear some distance from the boat. Each one spraying. Ellis gasped at the sight.

  "None of our kind are interested,” said the second whale. “The hunt is the art.” She was smaller than the first, not as old. She turned toward the pod of younger whales, spraying as she went.

  Just as Ellis’ shoulders sank, a third whale head appeared near the boat. Again, he was drenched by spray. This whale had a slightly wrinkled brow, making her look more matronly. “The cycle continues,” she said.

  "The cycle continues,” repeated Ellis solemnly.

  "You are looking for one of our kind,” she clicked.

  "I look for the old bull, Richard.” Ellis brushed wet hair from his forehead.

  "The one the humans call Richard is 47 miles afin port,” said the matronly whale. “The cycle resumes,” she said, giving another spout. With that, she dove under the surface, her tail raised in the air, waving to Ellis.

  "The cycle resumes,” said Ellis as he looked at the general direction of the adult whales. Using their fins as a pointer, he aimed his tiny craft where Richard would be.

  Passing by the pod of whales, Ellis heard snippets of stories told to the young whales. The stories were of the old times, when the violent chattering land apes came hunting. According to the stories, the apes were so stupid, it took them nearly seven hundred years to learn to talk. Even then, they had to use devices like the ones Ellis wore. As Ellis continued out to sea, he felt the old twang of guilt that came when he considered that his ancestors made their fortune hunting one of the other intelligent species of Earth.

  Continuing toward Richard's hunting grounds, Ellis returned the boat to the water to increase its speed and again stepped below, pondering the fact that Earth was unusually blessed by having three fully self-aware species; the sperm whale, the humpback, and man. Even in the thirtieth century, most people did not fully understand the subtleties of whale speech. To most, the words “the cycle continues” and �
��the cycle resumes” were a simple litany, or at best, a greeting. In fact, embedded in the litany were calculations based on temperature, density and salinity factors that determined just where the giant squid and fish were that the whales hunted for food. The hunt is the art.

  Humans owed a great debt to both intelligent species of whale. If humans had hunted them to extinction, they likely would not have developed interstellar travel. Just as Newton realized the existence of gravity by being bonked on the head with an apple, Quinn had realized the nature of gravity and its dimensionality by listening to humpback whale speech and understanding the wave patterns produced.

  Again, rummaging through his plastic sea chest, Ellis found dry clothes and a yellow rain slicker. Peeling himself out of his dripping clothes, he pulled on a warm, red flannel shirt and blue woolen pants. He replaced his drenched leather shoes with dry socks and rubber boots. Returning to the deck, he scanned the horizon. After only a few minutes, he saw a lone spout, almost nearer than he expected.

  As he approached, he saw the great, bifurcated tail go below the surface of the water. Again, he took the boat an inch out of the water, letting it sit silently. Donning the slicker, he waited nearly twenty minutes, watching white clouds build on the horizon.

  With a crash, like thunder, he saw a dark gray form lift itself clear out of the water pointing skyward. A waterfall streamed off the glistening body. Ellis caught his breath and held the ship's railing tightly as the body arched and fell back into the water. A spout of water and air buffeted the boat along with a mighty clang. Through the noise, Ellis heard clicking and, “The cycle continues, old friend!"

  "It has been a long time, my friend,” said Ellis as he watched the 62-foot long spermaceti whale swim alongside the boat.

  The whale's eye emerged from the water. “You are alone, young Ellis. Where is your father?"

  Ellis took a deep shuddering breath. “Dead, killed in space by something we call the Cluster."

  "I shall mourn him,” said Richard. His head went below the waves, revealing a wrinkled back. The great tail rose from the water. Richard surfaced after a minute on the other side of the boat. Ellis stepped to the other side and leaned over the railing. Richard rose far enough from the water so Ellis could touch him. He sighed and a tear escaped merging with the water.