We can ― if the knowledge gained is practical and useful. I headed the first expedition to study the megaleviathans. It was readily apparent to me that we could make an arrangement with the Arfies and use the beast to ship vehicles and passengers over this very important stretch of submerged Skyway." He took a sip of wine. "It was apparent when we learned that the mega feeds only once a year…"
"And just about swallows half an ocean when she does," one of the officers broke in, drawing a dark glance from Pendergast. "Sorry, sir," he said, and coughed quietly into his palm.
"For the rest of the time," the Captain went on, "the animal's digestive system is dormant ― by a factor of ninety percent. It took some doing to find the right analogs to Terran histamine H2 inhibitors, which we use in shutting it down completely."
"Why didn't you just build another conventional vessel?"
Knowing smiles around the table.
"The seas are very dangerous here," Dr. Gutman said.
"Yes," I said. "We found that out when we went swimming back on the island."
Raised eyebrows all around.
"You were very lucky," Gutman said. "More wine, my dear?" he asked Darla.
"Yes, thank you."
"The animal's reproductive cycle must be an amazing thing," Roland said, anticipating my next question.
"It is," Pendergast said, "from what we know of it. But to answer your implied question… no, megas don't mate in the conventional sense. They're hermaphroditic, but there the similarity to Terran biology breaks down. Dr. Gutman, you're vastly more qualified to speak on the subject;"
Gutman went on at some length, lecturing on the sex life of the megaleviathan. No doubt the lecture was an old routine. All during it, I felt more eyes on me than there were on him, a feeling that had persisted since I sat down.
"… and at various intervals," Gutman was saying, "quite without any warning that we've been able to discover, the mega gives birth to a relatively small life form that looks somewhat like a Terran dolphin. It's the product of some kind of par-thenogenetic process which is also a complete mystery. The animal is born fully developed, 'and swims away. Sooner or later it comes wandering back and proceeds to swim up the main vaginal orifice of the mega, never to come out again. About a year after that happens, the mega disgorges an egg from the same opening. This sinks to the sea floor and buries itself in the mud. The egg is very large, by the way, about the size of an average house. Six years after that, from what we've observed, a new mega is hatched from the egg."
"Sounds as if the whole process is a closed loop, genetically speaking," Roland commented. "How do new genes find their way into the pool?"
"It's doubtful that a dolphinoid returns to fertilize the mega that birthed it, except by accident," Gutman said. "A simple tagging procedure would clear the matter up, but the little devils are frightfully hard to catch." He smiled wryly. "Besides, that's pure research, isn't it?"
"Well, if it's true, that opens the cycle up," Roland said. "Still, it's fascinating."
"Isn't it, though?"
"To me," Darla interjected, "the Arfbarfs are more interesting. I've been trying to think of a more striking example of interspecies cooperation. I don't think there is one in the known mazes."
"Strange you should say cooperation," Pendergast said. "Most
people assume the megas are simply beasts of burden, but their relationship with the Arfies is a classic symbiosis."
"Really?" John said. "How does the mega benefit? It's easy to see that the Arfbarfs―"
Susan convulsed with another bout of giggling. "Sorry," she said, red-faced. "It's that name." i
"Akwaterrans, then," John went on. "Living on one of these beasts should be very handy for an amphibious species ― but the mega?"
"I'll sum it up in one word," Pendergast said. "Barnacles."
"Barnacles?"
"The native equivalent. Marine crustaceans that attach themselves to the sides and keel of the beast. They're very prolific in these waters. Over a very short time they can weigh a mega down, and if the Akwaterrans didn't clean them off and eat them, the mega would eventually founder and sink."
"I see," John said, and sat back as another steward poured coffee.
My food finally came, just in time for dessert. I tasted the grayish-green mass of stuff on my plate. It was awful.
"That one looks underdone," Pendergast observed.
"It's adequate. But if it's all the same to you, I'm going to bypass the main course and head straight for dessert. Is that cherries jubilee?"
"Yes. Freeze-dried, I'm afraid, and the brandy's domestic."
"I'm patriotic at heart."
All during dinner, Darla had been stealing glances at me, trying to divine my mood. She must have been having a rough time, because I was riding an express elevator to the roof. The Purple Pyrotechnic Pill was kicking in.
Listless conversation went on among the other guests until Roland turned to the Captain and said, "You've explained why the Arfbarfs and megas get along, but how does the ship contribute to the arrangement? Or does it?"
"Let me offer my own one-word explanation," Gutman said, after having polished off his dessert in three gulps. "Food." He handed the empty bowl to the steward for seconds. "Surprised? You'd think that with a sea teeming with life there would be no problem. But there is. Arfie crews are stratified according to a division of labor. There's a crustacean-scraping class, a pilot class, a fishing class ― they need fish to supplement their diet ― a young-rearing class, various other smaller ones, including an officer class. As a result, relatively few Arfies gather food for the whole crew, and there is no crossing of class lines. Taboo. When the crew gets sociologically top-heavy, food-gathering becomes a problem. It's hard work scraping barnacles, as any swab can tell you. And as for fishing―"
"One-word explanation?" Pendergast scoffed. "I'll put it more simply, Mr. Yee. We won't scrape the keel for them, but we do help with the fishing, using nets, which the Arfies haven't got the hang of making yet. If you're an early riser, you might want-to watch us trawl tomorrow morning."
"Thank you. Captain," Gutman said dryly.
A siren wailed somewhere in the ship, making me jump a little. The elevator was shooting through the roof.
"A little after-dinner entertainment, ladies and gentlemen," Pendergast said. He rose and went over to a set of double hatches on the far bulkhead. He opened them and walked out onto a small lookout deck. We all got up and followed.
Searchlight beams were sweeping the island, lancing out into the sea-sprayed night, but bright moonlight clearly revealed what was happening. The island was being invaded^ by a writhing mass of red spaghetti. Crimson tentacles were snaking their way from the shore toward a cluster of dome-huts, and hundreds of Arfies were on them like ants, hacking and cutting with sharpened seashells. Even with their numbers the Arfies were having a hard time checking the monster's progress. More clumps of tentacles oozed over the shoreline, separated, and began to flop and wriggle their way inland. More amphibians flung themselves at these, chopping and slashing with abandon. It was a nightmarish scene, overhung with orange clouds glowing spectrally with light from a bloated ruddy moon. It was the first time I heard the Arfies barking. The sound was a three-way cross between a bullfrog, a dog, and a good human burp. Pendergast's imitation had been accurate to a point, though emphasizing the canine element.
"Don't took too long, ladies and gentlemen," Pendergast said. "The gaze of the gorgon squid will turn you to stone." Turning to me he said, "You can see why a conventional ship is vulnerable in these waters, even a hydroskiff. And this is an average-size gorgon."