“That is classified information,” said Larry. “I can’t even open up the optic channels. If you want to see him you’ll have to suit up and spend a lot of time on the market barges. He sometimes goes there with the catch if his ship is handling it.”
“Is he well?” she pressed him.
Larry sighed. “We have a standard answer for all such inquiries from the Hive: couldn’t be better!”
Iris wrapped up her son and picked up the bundle of possessions she had accumulated. Larry stood in the doorway to help her with her burdens. She tied on her lavalava—added some leis to cover her large, lactating breast—and stuck a flower in her hair. She climbed on his back, took the infant from the aide, and rode him out of the doorway, up the ramp, and on to the foredeck beside ARNOLD. Ring Island was just ahead.
Larry pawed restlessly.
ARNOLD watched the natives chant and toss flowers at their Godwhale. The string of green biscuits in the whale’s wake was collected between canoes.
“We’ve given them a god,” said the giant, “easy enough when their problems are small.”
“And when they’re unsophisticated,” added the centaur. “Look at their serene expressions. They’ve found their deity and know that they are loved by her. That should make them feel pretty secure.”
The mean of Rorqual remained aloof as the Queen’s homecoming celebration picked up steam.
“Notice all the skin colours,” said Larry, “olives, browns, yellows…”
“So… ? Like any of the islanders.”
“I was just hoping I could recognize one of the Procyon Implant’s rainbow mix. Remember the stills of that herb island I visited with White Belly? The fuselage in the swamp might have been a pod from the starship—to explain the radiating Gardens. If there had been humans in the Implant, they could have migrated south—”
“To these islands?” said ARNOLD. “Possible, I suppose. We’d need genotype records from the Implant and “gene flow” maps of the islander’s migrations to be sure.”
Larry nodded. “The almond might tell us which of the rainbow mix were dropped on Earth. If some of the rare antigens were included we could search for them. It might take the rest of my life to complete the study, but it would be interesting to find out.”
ARNOLD just shrugged. “You do what interests you. As for myself, I don’t see the difference between a primitive gene surviving the Hive as a Benthic—or as a starship passenger. Either way you are dealing with a basic set of human traits leapfrogging into the future and losing their cultural heritage. You’re the only one around with a personal knowledge of our history, and I can’t see that it does you any good.”
“Insight?” said the centaur.
“You think too much as it is. Like your interest in gy=c. All it proves is that our planet might have been built at the whim of a superbeing. I was built at the whim of the Hive. I try to ignore it. We’d all be happier if we were accidents of Nature.”
“Maybe…” said Larry.”
Rorqual backed out of the cortege of ceremonial canoes. Larry stood on the foredeck sniffing his garlands and waving. Mannequin pawed restlessly. ARNOLD leaned out of the portal whispering.
“Did you see the look in Nine Fingers’ eyes when he saw that tattoo? I never thought a dark finger could make that much difference.”
“Just another miracle in the psychology of fatherhood.” Larry smiled. “He wanted a son. Now he has one. Until they study genetic theory, there is no doubt in their minds that the child is the true young prince of Ring Island. He has his father’s colour except for the finger, which he got from his mother.”
“Obviously,” agreed the giant.
The aide interrupted them with a report of the island’s annual catch and census.
“It looks like our opening the reef was just what they needed. The lagoon’s fish population is way up. They even caught the white shark on one of the night throw-lines. Look at the size of the tribe! In a few years they should be up to a hundred again.”
“That’s about right for the land—two square miles. They need that many to maintain the arts of boat and net.”
Larry frowned. “But I don’t want to give you the impression that people should cooperate and work together.”
“No, of course not,” laughed ARNOLD. “We just visited this island so I’d have someone new to sleep with.”
Larry shrugged. “Well, Nine Fingers wanted a prince and you were the only King around—a real Hive-certified King Rooster!”
Laughter across the waters.
The young King held his new son high so everyone could see. “Our women are fat. Our babies many. The lagoon is rich. Gardens grow tall.”
Iris praised the young lad who had caught the white shark. She talked of her voyages in the Godwhale—meeting angels, centaurs, and dwarf Hive dwellers. Her gifts included a bucket of ice and a description of a land where such delicate white stuff extends from horizon to horizon. As she talked it melted away.
Truly, a wondrous adventure for a young Queen! Nine Fingers’ crown sat more comfortably on his head as his olive-fingered son grew tall and strong.
Rorqual cruised another Ocean. On her screens she carried the prayer:
gy = c
Planet Earth was still hospitable towards Man!