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"Go. Take Kona with you. Feed him. Hose him off."
"Nope, if you're not coming, I'm going solo. Tell Clair hi for me."
"Go."
He looked back at the computer, looked past the window at the brilliant Maui sun, then shut the computer down, feeling very much as if nothing he did mattered or would ever matter again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Scooter Don't Meep
The whale tossed like a roller coaster moving through tomato soup — great gut-flopping waves of muscular motion. Qui
"Hurl patrol," came a voice out of the dark.
"Flush and gush, boys, the doc blew ballast back here," came another voice.
Qui
The interior of the whale looked like a bad van conversion done by a latex freak: damp, rubbery skin over everything, lit by a light blue haze coming from the eyes up front, the rest dimly lit by bioluminescent strips of green that ran over the top of the teardrop-shaped chamber. At the front of the chamber, on either side by the eyes, two things sat in seats that wrapped around their bodies. Qui
Inside the whale smelled like fish.
Standing, or sort of standing — riding was a more appropriate term, as everything inside the whale was moving — behind the seated creatures were two men, one about forty, the other twenty-five, both barefoot but wearing military khakis without insignias or any badges of rank, but the older man was obviously in command. Qui
"What…?" he managed to get out before his gorge rose again.
"It really helps with the incredulity if you accept that you're dead," said the older man.
"I'm dead?"
"I didn't say that, but if you accept that you are, it sort of quells the anxiety."
"Yeah, if you're already dead, what bad can really happen?" said the younger guy.
"Then I am dead?"
"Nope. Breathe and go with the motion," said the older guy. "It's not going to stop, so if you fight it, you'll lose."
"Your lunch," added the young guy, and then he let loose a giggle at his own joke.
"There's less motion toward the front. The head tracks close to level. But you knew that."
Qui
"I'm inside a whale?"
"Ding, ding, ding, he's gotten the bonus answer." The young guy leaned back against the back of the seat where one of the gray creatures was sitting, and a chairlike protrusion rose out of the floor to catch him. "Tell him what he's won, Captain."
"Hospitality, Poe. Help the doctor up to the front so we can talk without him tossing his cookies."
The younger guy helped Qui
"We call them the whaley boys," the older man said. "They pilot the whale."
"The one directly behind you is Scooter, the other one is Skippy. Say hi, guys."
The creatures turned as far as the chairs would allow them and made clicking and squeaking noises, then seemed to smile at Qui
"They say hi," said Poe. "I'm Poe. This is Captain Poynter." Poynter, the older man, tipped his hat and offered a hand to shake. Qui
"The whaley boys don't speak English as we know it," Poe said, "although they have a few squeaks that come out like words. They're tapped directly in to the whale's nervous system. They steer it, control all the processes at any given time. We can't do much on the whales without them. Certainly could never drive one. The whales and the whaley boys are made for each other."
Poe pushed against the back of Skippy's seat, and another seat formed out of the floor to cradle him as he leaned back into it. "I love that," Poe said.
Poynter backed up to a rubbery bulkhead, and a seat formed out of the wall to catch him as well.
"If they're paying attention, they'll never let you fall." Poe gri
"Get it off me! Get it off me! I can't breathe!"
"Prepare for breach," said Poynter.
Scooter chirped. Skippy gri
The attitude of the whale changed, going up at a nearly sixty-degree angle — and then the angle went sharper as they moved. Qui
The whaley boys chirped and clicked gleefully, gri