The Deep Range - Arthur C. Clarke [85]
“In that case, I’d prefer to continue our conversation back on land. Have you finished whatever you’re doing?”
“It’s never finished, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll ride the torp back—no need to lift all this gear into the boat.”
The scientist swung his tiny metal fish around toward the island, and promptly set off at a speed which the dinghy could not hope to match. At once the two killers streaked after him, their huge dorsal fins leaving a creamy wake in the water. It seemed a dangerous game of tag to play, but before Franklin could discover what would happen when the killers caught the torpedo, Lundquist had crossed the shallow but clearly marked mesh around the enclosure, and the two whales broke their rush in a flurry of spray.
Franklin was very thoughtful on the way back to land. He had known Lundquist for years, but now he felt that this was the first time he had ever really seen him. There had never been any doubt concerning his originality—indeed, his brilliance—but he also appeared to possess unsuspected courage and initiative. None of which, Franklin determined grimly, would help him unless he had a satisfactory answer to certain questions.
Dressed in his everyday clothes, and back in the familiar laboratory surroundings, Lundquist was the man Franklin had always known. “Now, John,” he began, “I suppose you’ve seen this television propaganda against the bureau?”
“Of course. But is it against us?”
“It’s certainly against our main activity, but we won’t argue that point. What I want to know is this: Have you been in touch with the Maha Thero?”
“Oh yes. He contacted me immediately after that article appeared in Earth Magazine.”
“And you passed on confidential information to him?”
Lundquist looked sincerely hurt.
“I resent that, Mr. Franklin. The only information I gave him was an advance proof of my paper on whalemilk production, which comes out in the Cetological Review next month. You approved it for publication yourself.”
The accusations that Franklin was going to make collapsed around his ears, and he felt suddenly rather ashamed of himself.
“I’m sorry, John,” he said. “I take that back. All this has made me a bit jumpy, and I just want to sort out the facts before HQ starts chasing me. But don’t you think you should have told me about this inquiry?”
“Frankly, I don’t see why. We get all sorts of queries every day, and I saw no reason to suppose that this was not just another routine one. Of course, I was pleased that somebody was taking a particular interest in my special project, and I gave them all the help I could.”
“Very well,” said Franklin resignedly. “Let’s forget the post-mortem. But answer for me this question: As a scientist, do you really believe that we can afford to stop whale slaughtering and switch over to milk and synthetics?”
“Given ten years, we can do it if we have to. There’s no technical objection that I can see. Of course I can’t guarantee the figures on the plankton-farming side, but you can bet your life that the Thero had accurate sources of information there as well.”
“But you realize what this will mean! If it starts with whales, sooner or later it will go right down the line through all the domestic animals.”
“And why not? The prospect rather appeals to me. If science and religion can combine to take some of the cruelty out of Nature, isn’t that a good thing?”
“You sound like a crypto-Buddhist—and I’m tired of pointing out that there’s no cruelty in what we are doing. Meanwhile, if the Thero asks any more questions, kindly refer him to me.”
“Very good, Mr. Franklin,” Lundquist replied rather stiffly. There was an awkward pause, providentially broken by the arrival of a messenger.
“Headquarters wants to speak to you, Mr. Franklin. It’s urgent.”
“I bet it is,” muttered Franklin. Then he caught sight of Lundquist’s still somewhat hostile expression, and could not suppress a smile.
“If you can train orcas to be wardens, John,” he said, “you’d better start looking around for a suitable mammal—preferably amphibious