The Deep Range - Arthur C. Clarke [56]
“As with a low sucking sound it slowly disappeared again, Starbuck still gazing at the agitated waters where it had sunk, with a wild voice exclaimed—‘Almost rather had I seen Moby Dick and fought him, then to have seen thee, thou white ghost!’
“‘What was it, Sir?’ said Flask.
“‘The great live squid, which, they say, few whale-ships ever beheld, and returned to their ports to tell of it.’
“But Ahab said nothing; turning his boat, he sailed back to the vessel; the rest as silently following.”
Indra paused, closed the book, and waited for her husband’s response. Franklin stirred himself in the too-comfortable couch and said thoughtfully: “I’d forgotten that bit—if I ever read as far. It rings true to life, but what was a squid doing on the surface?”
“It was probably dying. They sometimes surface at night, but never in the daytime, and Melville says this was on ‘one transparent blue morning.’”
“Anyway, what’s a furlong? I’d like to know if Melville’s squid was as big as Percy. The photos make him a hundred and thirty feet from his flukes to the tips of his feelers.”
“So he beats the largest blue whale ever recorded.”
“Yes, by a couple of feet. But of course he doesn’t weigh a tenth as much.”
Franklin heaved himself from his couch and went in search of a dictionary. Presently Indra heard indignant noises coming from the living room, and called out: “What’s the matter?”
“It says here that a furlong is an obsolete measure of length equal to an eighth of a mile. Melville was talking through his hat.”
“He’s usually very accurate, at least as far as whales are concerned. But ‘furlong’ is obviously ridiculous—I’m surprised no one’s spotted it before. He must have meant fathoms, or else the printer got it wrong.”
Slightly mollified, Franklin put down the dictionary and came back to the porch. He was just in time to see Don Burley arrive, sweep Indra off her feet, plant a large but brotherly kiss on her forehead, and dump her back in her chair.
“Come along, Walt!” he said. “Got your things packed? I’ll give you a lift to the airport.”
“Where’s Peter hiding?” said Franklin. “Peter! Come and say good-by—Daddy’s off to work.”
A four-year-old bundle of uncontrollable energy came flying into the room, almost capsizing his father as he jumped into his arms.
“Daddy’s going to bring me back a ’quid?” he asked.
“Hey—how did you know about all this?”
“It was on the news this morning, while you were still asleep,” explained Indra. “They showed a few seconds of Don’s film, too.”
“I was afraid of that. Now we’ll have to work with a crowd of cameramen and reporters looking over our shoulders. That means that something’s sure to go wrong.”
“They can’t follow us down to the bottom, anyway,” said Burley.
“I hope you’re right—but don’t forget we’re not the only people with deep-sea subs.”
“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Don protested to Indra. “Does he always look on the black side of things?”
“Not always,” smiled Indra, as she unraveled Peter from his father. “He’s cheerful at least twice a week.”
Her smile faded as she watched the sleek sportster go whispering down the hill. She was very fond of Don, who was practically a member of the family, and there were times when she worried about him. It seemed a pity that he had never married and settled down; the nomadic, promiscuous life he led could hardly be very satisfying. Since they had known him, he had spent almost all his time on or under the sea, apart from hectic leaves when he had used their home as a base—at their invitation but often to their embarrassment when there were unexpected lady guests to entertain at breakfast.
Their own life, by many standards, had been nomadic enough, but at least they had always had a place they could call home. That apartment in Brisbane, where her brief but happy career as a lecturer at the University of Queensland had ended with the birth of Peter; that bungalow in Fiji, with the roof that had a mobile leak which the builders could never find; the married quarters at the South Georgia whaling station (she could