When Jan first saw it, he found it hard to realize that he was not watching the fuselage of a small airliner being assembled. The metal skeleton was twenty metres long, perfectly streamlined, and surrounded by light scaffolding over which the workmen were clambering with their power tools.
“Yes,” said Sullivan in reply to Jan’s question. “We use standard aeronautical techniques, and most of these men are from the aircraft industry. It’s hard to believe that a thing this size could be alive, isn’t it? Or could throw itself clear out of the water, as I’ve seen them do.”
It was all very fascinating, but Jan had other things on his mind. His eyes were searching the giant skeleton to find a suitable hiding-place for his little cell — the “air-conditioned coffin", as Sullivan had christened it. On one point he was Immediately reassured. As far as space was concerned, there would be room for a dozen stowaways.
“The framework looks nearly complete,” said Jan. “When will you be putting on the skin? I suppose you’ve already caught your whale, or you wouldn’t know how large to make the skeleton.”
Sullivan seemed highly amused by this remark.
“We haven’t the slightest intention of catching a whale. Anyway, they don’t have skins in the usual sense of the word. It would hardly be practicable to fold a blanket of blubber twenty centimetres thick around that framework. No, the whole thing will be faked up with plastics and then accurately painted. By the time we’ve finished, no one will be able to tell the difference.” In that case, thought Jan, the sensible thing for the. Overlords to have done would be to take photographs and make the full-sized model themselves, back on their home planet. But perhaps their supply ships returned empty, and a little thing like a twenty-metre sperm whale would hardly be noticed. When one possessed such power and such resources, one could not be bothered with minor economies…
Professor Sullivan stood by one of the great statues that had been such a challenge to archaeology since Easter Island was discovered. King, god or whatever it might be, its eyeless gaze seemed to be following his as he looked upon his handiwork. He was proud of what he had done: it seemed a pity that it would soon be banished forever from human sight.
The tableau might have been the work of some mad artist in a drugged delirium. Yet it was a painstaking copy from life: Nature herself was the artist here. The scene was one that, until the perfection of underwater television, few men had ever glimpsed — and even then only for seconds on those rare occasions when the giant antagonists thrashed their way to the surface. These battles were fought in the endless night of the ocean depths, where the sperm whales hunted for their food. It was food that objected strongly to being eaten alive — The long, saw-toothed lower jaw of the whale was gaping wide, preparing to fasten upon its prey. The creature’s head was almost concealed beneath the writhing network of white, pulpy arms with which the giant squid was fighting desperately for life. Livid sucker-marks, twenty centimetres or more in diameter, had mottled the whale’s skin where those arms had fastened. One tentacle was already a truncated stump, and there could be no doubt as to the ultimate outcome of the battle. When the two greatest beasts on earth engaged in combat, the whale was always the winner. For all the vast strength of its forest of tentacles, the squid’s only hope lay in escaping before that patiently grinding jaw had sawn it to pieces. Its great expressionless eyes, half a metre across, stared at its destroyer — though, in all probability, neither creature could see the other in the darkness of the abyss.
The entire exhibit was more than thirty metres long, and had now been surrounded by a cage of aluminium girders to which the lifting tackle had been connected. Everything was ready, awaiting the Overlords’ pleasure. Sullivan hoped that they would act quickly: the suspense was beginning to be uncomfortable. Someone had come out of the office into the bright sunlight, obviously looking for him. Sullivan recognized his chief clerk, and walked over to meet him.
“Hello, Bill — what’s the fuss?”
The other was holding a message form and looked rather pleased.
“Some good news, Professor. We’ve been honoured! The Supervisor himself wants to come and look at our tableau before it’s shipped off. Just think of the publicity we’ll get. It will help a lot when we apply for our new grant. I’d been hoping for something like this.”
Professor Sullivan swallowed hard. He never objected to publicity, but this time he was afraid he might get altogether too much.
Karellen stood by the head of the whale and looked up at the great, blunt snout and the ivory-studded Jaw. Sullivan, concealing his unease, wondered what the Supervisor was thinking. His behaviour had not hinted at any suspicion, and the visit could be easily explained as a normal one. But Sullivan would be very glad when it was over.
’We’ve no creatures as large as this on our planet,” said Karellen. “That is one reason why we asked you to make this group. My — er — compatriots will find it fascinating.”
“With your low gravity,” answered Sullivan, “I should have thought you would have had some very large animals. After all, look how much bigger you are than us!”
“Yes — but we have no oceans. And where size is concerned, the land can never compete with the sea.”
That was perfectly true, thought Sullivan. And as far as he knew, this was a hitherto unrevealed fact about the world of the Overlords. Jan, confound him, would be very interested.
At the moment that young man was sitting in a hut a kilometre away, anxiously watching the inspection through field glasses. He kept telling himself that there was nothing to fear.
No inspection of the whale, however close, could reveal its secret. But there was always the chance that Karellen suspected something — and was playing with them.
It was a suspicion that was growing in Sullivan’s mind as the Supervisor peered into the cavernous throat.
“In your Bible,” said Karellen, “there is a remarkable story of a Hebrew prophet, one Jonah, who was swallowed by a whale and thus carried safely to land after he had been cast from a ship. Do you think there could be any basis of fact in such a legend?”
“I believe,” Sullivan replied cautiously, “that there is one fairly well-authenticated case of a whaleman being swallowed and then regurgitated with no ill-effects. Of course, if he had been inside the whale for more than a few seconds he would have suffocated. And he must have been very lucky to miss the teeth. It’s an almost incredible story, but not quite impossible.”
“Very interesting,” said Karellen. He stood for another moment staring at the great jaw, then moved on to examine the squid. Sullivan hoped he did not hear his sigh of relief.
“If I’d known what I was going to go through,” said Professor Sullivan, “I’d have thrown you out of the office as soon as you tried to infect me with your insanity.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Jan replied. “But we’ve got away with it.”
“I hope so. Good luck, anyway. If you want to change your mind, you’ve still got at least six hours.”
“I won’t need them. Only Karellen can stop me now. Thanks for all that you’ve done. If I ever get back, and write a book about the Overlords, I’ll dedicate it to you.”
“Much good that will do me,” said Sullivan gruffly. “I’ll have been dead for years.” To his surprise and mild consternation, for he was not a sentimental man, he discovered that this farewell was beginning to affect him. He had grown to like Jan during the weeks they had plotted together. Moreover, he had begun to fear he might be an accessory to a complicated suicide.
He steadied the ladder as Jan climbed into the great jaw, carefully avoiding the lines of teeth. By the light of the electric torch, he saw Jan turn and wave: then he was lost in the cavernous hollow. There was the sound of the airlock hatch being opened and closed, and, thereafter, silence.
In the moonlight, that had transformed the frozen battle into a scene from a nightmare, Professor Sullivan walked slowly back to his office. He wondered what he had done, and where it would lead. But this, of course, he would never know. Jan might walk this spot again, having given no more than a few months of his life in travelling to the home of the Overlords and returning to Earth. Yet if he did so, it would be on the other side of Time’s impassable barrier, for it would be eighty years in the future.
The lights went on in the tiny metal cylinder as soon as Jan had closed the inner door of the lock. He allowed himself no time for second thoughts, but began immediately upon the routine check he had already worked out. All the stores and provisions had been loaded days ago, but a final recheck would put him in the right frame of mind, by assuring him that nothing had been left undone.
An hour later, he was satisfied. He lay back on the sponge-rubber couch and recapitulated his plans. The only sound was the faint whirr of the electric calendar dock, which would warn him when the voyage was coming to its end. He knew that he could expect to feel nothing here in his cell, for whatever tremendous forces drove the ships of the Overlords must be perfectly compensated. Sullivan had checked that, pointing out that his tableau would collapse if subjected to more than a few gravities. His — clients — had assured him that there was no danger on this score.
There would, however, be a considerable change of atmospheric pressure. This was unimportant, since the hollow models could “breathe” through several orifices. Before he left his cell, Jan would have to equalize pressure, and he had assumed that the atmosphere inside the Overlord ship was unbreathable. A simple face-mask and oxygen set would take care of that: there was no need for anything elaborate. If he could breathe without mechanical aid, so much the better. There was no point in waiting any longer: it would only be a strain on the nerves. He took out the little syringe, already loaded with the carefully prepared solution. Narcosamine had been discovered during research into animal hibernation: it was not true to say — as was popularly believed — that it produced suspended animation. All it caused was a great slowing-down of the vital processes, though metabolism still continued at a reduced level. It was as if one had banked up the fires of life, so that they smouldered underground. But when, after weeks or months, the effect of the drug wore off, they would burst out again and the sleeper would revive. Narcosamine was perfectly safe. Nature had used it for a million years to protect many of her children from the foodless winter.
So Jan slept. He never felt the tug of the hoisting cables as the huge metal framework was lifted into the hold of the Overlord freighter. He never heard the hatches close, not to open again for three hundred million million kilometres. He never heard, far-off and faint through the mighty walls, the protesting scream of Earth’s atmosphere, as the ship climbed swiftly back to its natural element.
And he never felt the stardrive go on.