"It's a little chilly, but, yes."
"Oh, good."
And so they'd left him there a couple of hours, his hand and about six inches of his arm hanging out in the open sea as the whale ship swam along, and when they finally pulled him up, they put him in his seat and kept him restrained except to eat and go to the bathroom. He'd tried to relax and observe — learn what he could — but then a few minutes ago these waves of uneasiness had started hitting him. "He's got the sonic willies," said Poe.
Poynter looked away from Skippy's console. "It's the subsonics, Doc. You're feeling the sound waves even though you can't hear them. We've been communicating with the blue for about ten minutes now."
"You might have said something."
"I just did."
"Couple of hours you'll be in the blue, Doc. You can stand up again, walk around a little. Have some privacy."
"So you're communicating with it in low-frequency sound?"
"Yep. Just like you thought, Doc, there was meaning in the call."
"Yeah, but I didn't think this, that there were guys, and guylike things, riding about inside whales. How in the hell can this be happening? How can I not know about this?"
"So you're giving up on the being-dead strategy?" asked Poe.
"What is it? Space aliens?"
Poynter unbuttoned his shirt and showed some chest hair. "Do I look like a space alien?"
"Well, no, but them." Nate nodded toward the whaley boys. They looked at each other and snickered, a sort of wheezing laughter coming from their blowholes, paused, looked back at Nate, then snickered some more.
"Maybe on their planet sentient life evolved from whales rather than apes," Quinn continued. "I can see how they might have landed here, deployed these whale ships, and kept under the radar of human detection while they looked around. I mean, man obviously isn't the most peaceful of creatures."
"That work for you, Doc?" asked Poynter.
"On their planet they developed an organically based technology, rather than one based on combustion and manipulation of minerals like ours."
"Oh, that is good," said Poe.
"He's on a roll," said Poynter. "Unraveling the mystery, he is."
Skippy and Scooter nodded to each other and grinned.
"So that's it? This ship is extraterrestrial?" Quinn felt the small victory rush that one gets from proving a hypothesis — even one as bizarre as space aliens riding in whale ships.
"Sure," said Poe, "that works for me. You, Cap?"
"Yeah, moon men, that's what you guys are," Poynter said to the whaley boys.
"Meep," said Scooter.
And in a high, squeaky, little-girl voice, Skippy croaked, "Phone home."
The whaley boys gave each other a high four and collapsed into fits of hysterical wheezing.
"What did he say?" Nate nearly snapped his neck trying to turn around against the restraints. "They can talk?"
"Well, I guess, if you call that talking," Poe said. He exchanged high fives with Poynter at the expense of the whaley boys, who paused in their own laughter to roll the whale ship in three quick spirals, which tossed the unsecured Poe and Poynter around the soft cabin like a couple of rag dolls.
Poynter came up with a bloody lip from connecting with his own knee. Poe had barked his shin on one of the whaley boys' heads as he went over. Strapped in, Nate concentrated on not watching a rerun of his lunch of raw tuna and water.
"Bastards!" said Poe.
"That what you expected in your race of super-intelligent, space-faring extraterrestrials, Nate?" Poynter wiped blood from his lower lip and flung it at Scooter.
Carl Linnaeus, an eighteenth-century Swedish doctor who specialized in the treatment of syphilis, is credited with inventing the modern system that is used for classifying plants and animals. Linnaeus is responsible for naming the humpback whale Megaptera novaeangliae, or "big wings of New England," and later naming the blue whale Balaenoptera musculus, or "little mouse": at 110 feet long, over a hundred tons, an animal whose tongue alone is larger than a full-grown African elephant — the largest animal to ever live on the planet. "Little mouse"? Some speculated that this ironic misnomer was perpetrated entirely to confuse Linnaeus's lab assistants, as in Run out and bring me back a "little mouse," Sven. Others think that the pox had gone to Carl's head.
Quinn was crouched over the back orifice, Skippy and Scooter holding him by either arm, Poynter and Poe crouched before him, saluting. He could feel the texture of the opening under his bare feet, like wet tire tread.
"It's been a pleasure, Doc," Poynter said. "Have a great trip."
"We'll see you back at base," said Poe. "Now, just relax. You're barely going to contact water. Hold your nose and blow."
Quinn did.
Poynter counted, "One, two —»
"Meep."
Nate was sucked out the orifice, felt a brief chill and some pressure pushing back against his ears, and found himself in a chamber only a little taller than that in the humpback, with a fairly amused woman.
"You can stop blowing now," she said.
"Yet another phrase I didn't think I'd be hearing in this lifetime," Nate said. He let go of his nostrils and took a deep breath. The air seemed fresher than in the humpback.
"Welcome to my blue, Dr. Quinn, I'm Cielle Nuñez. How do you feel?"
"Pooped." Quinn grinned. She was about his age, Hispanic with short dark hair peppered gray and wide brown eyes that caught the bioluminescence off the walls and reflected what looked like laughter. She was barefoot and wearing generic khakis like Poynter and Poe. He shook her hand.
"Cute," she said. "Come forward with me, Doctor. I'm sure it's been a while since you were able to stand up straight." She led him down the corridor, which reminded Nate of when, as kids, he and his buddies had explored storm drains in Vancouver. It was tall enough to walk in, but not tall enough to stand in comfortably.
"Actually, Cielle, I'm not a doctor. I have a Ph.D., but the doctor thing —»
"I understand. I'm captain of this rig, but if you call me 'Captain, I'll ignore you."
"I wanted to hear the humpback sing before I left. You know, from the inside."
"You will. There'll be time."
The corridor started to widen as they moved forward, and Nate was actually able to walk normally, or as normally as one can walk when barefoot on whaleskin. This skin had a mottled appearance, whereas on the humpback it had been nearly solid gray. He noticed that on this ship there were wide veins of bioluminescence on the floor, casting a yellow light up upward that gave everything a sinister green glow. Nuñez paused by what appeared to be portals on either side of them.
"This is as good a place as any," she said. "Now, turn sideways and take my hand."
Quinn did as he was asked. Her hand felt warm but dry. She was a small woman, but powerfully built, he could feel the strength in her grip. "Now, we're just going to walk as the ship moves. Don't stop until I say, or you'll fall on your ass."
"WHAT?"
"Okay, Scooter, roll it."
"Scooter?"
"All pilots are called Scooter or Skippy. They didn't tell you?"
"They weren't very forthcoming with information."
"Humpback crews are a bunch of yahoos." Nuñez smiled. "You know the type, like navy fighter pilots topside? All ego and testosterone."
"I got more cretin than yahoo," Nate said.
"Well, with that particular bunch, yes."
The whole corridor started to move.
"Here we go, step, step, step, that's good." They were walking across the walls as the ship rolled. When they were standing on the ceiling, the roll stopped. "Nice, Scooter," Nuñez said, obviously communicating through some sort of hidden intercom. Then, to Nate, "He's so good."