At last the realization of my sadism hit me and I released her arm.
Dalusa drew in a loud ragged breath, close to my ear.
I gritted my teeth. “There was no satisfaction in it, no climax—"
My complaint was cut off suddenly when Dalusa punched me in the stomach. Her clenched fist was backed by all the massive strength of her shoulders and pectorals; it hit so hard that a vivid red flash showed before my eyes and air gusted from my lungs.
“Better now?” Dalusa asked melodiously.
I clenched my fist to break her teeth in, but realized suddenly that it was better. It was my first insight into the joy of pain.
“You hurt me,” I said.
Tm sorry,” she said contritely. “You started it; I thought that was what you wanted. Please don’t be angry.” She stiffened miserably against me.
“I’m not like, you;” I said after a long silence. “You cant expect me to hurt like you do. I cant bleed for you, Dalusa. I can’t, and I won’t. If you can’t face that, maybe we should forget the whole thing.”
“We’ll see how things will be,” she whispered, and her thick dull hair fell gently over my face.
Chapter 10
Flying Fish
My next days were occupied mostly by cooking. I spent much time studying Nullaquan tastes, thinking that when I returned to Reverie I would startle my friends with odd Nullaqua-style delicacies. Unfortunately, while she was sweeping the kitchen Dalusa accidentally upset the container of horseradishlike spice into one of my stews. A single taste of this inadvertent dish puckered my mouth for two hours. I almost threw it out, but served it at the last minute. The crew ate it with their usual stolidity and attention. Had Nullaqua grown trees, they would have eaten the bark and found it good.
There was not much wind in this part of the Sea of Dust. The equator was at the verge of the two convection cells that determine the crater’s climate, and eternal calm stretched from wall to wall. The air was clearer, too, and to either side of Lunglance a silvery heat haze stretched shimmering into the distance. One could squint through the lenses of one’s mask and almost imagine the Lunglance serenely afloat on a monstrous ocean of mercury. The sky seemed bluer than usual here, almost violet, and the low rim of cliffs, far to the west, were tinged purple with distance. Every scrap of plastic sail that the Lunglance had was set, even the tiny auxiliary ones at the very top whose masts were no thicker than broomsticks. Only the merest whisper of wind propelled us’ and the ship seemed to slide almost regretfully through the dust.
I was sweating inside my mask; I had to tilt my head back and shake it to keep perspiration out of my eyes. The crew, with thicker eyebrows than mine, had no such problem. I leaned over the rail again and stared moodily into the distance, still a little glazed from the Flare I had done that morning. It was an affecting scene, I noted. I thought about writing a poem. I decided against it.
Dalusa, back from her morning patrol, swooped by me at the rail, so close that the wake of her passage stirred my hair. I waved in acknowledgement. Dalusa, I noticed, was getting her own equivalent of a tan; she was growing paler and paler with repeated exposure to the sun. It was a more logical arrangement than my own. After all, pale skin reflects the heat.
I looked around unobtrusively and was relieved to find Murphig nowhere in sight. I had been sure that he was standing around somewhere, watching.
Perhaps I would have to make a friend of Murphig. He was an open, inquiring mind, and despite his oddities he seemed firmly rooted in sanity. Suppose, for instance, that Desperandum suddenly became dangerous. Little help could be expected from the tradition-bound mates or oxlike crew. They would probably poison their mothers before they would soil their souls with mutiny. Calothrick was a zero, also. He was still resentful because I had not given him his own store of Flare, as I had learned just yesterday when he had come back to fill up all three of his packets. He was growing dirtier, too; his hair was lank and greasy, and the lightning-stripes were slowly peeling off the sides of his mask. He could not be trusted.
And it would take at least two of us to handle Desperandum; it would probably take two just to kill him, even with the harpoons. I even had my doubts about Dalusa as a confederate. She loved me, there was no doubt about that But in what way? How much did love mean to her, anyway? There was no way to tell, as she refused to talk about her cultural background. Dalusa obsessed me but I was not yet blind.
We killed two whales later that day and dropped six fertilized eggs overboard. I cooked whale steaks that night They were noxious.
Next morning there was a cloud on the southern horizon. This could only bode ill, as Nullaqua never had the decent, normal clouds of harmless vapor that grace the skies of other planets.
“What do you make of it, Mr. Flack?” I heard Desperandum say to his first mate, handing the man a pair of binoculars.
“Flying fish, sir,” replied the laconic whaler.
“Good! Good!” said Desperandum gruffly. “Mr. Flack, have two men ready to help me with equipment. The rest of the crew will retire belowdecks.”
While two crewmen dragged monitoring devices from Desperandum’s cabin, the rest of us sought shelter below. Before I went in, I glanced quickly around for Dalusa. She was nowhere in sight. I later discovered that she had gone below before I did. I sat on the stool in the kitchen while the rest of the crew tramped down the stairs. Calothrick walked by and gave me a glazed, yellow-toothed grin.
I debated a short blast of Flare while the migration passed. The pro side was winning when Flack stuck his head through the hatch and said flatly, “Cookie wanted on deck.”
I went. On deck, Desperandum and the two crewmen were stringing nets between the masts. I noticed that six cubical boxes with swiveling wire-mesh radar dishes had been set several feet apart in front of the nets. Red and blue wiring trailed in tangles from the boxes to a sort of metal pillbox, fitted together out of five thin sheets of iron. It had a thick visorlike window, facing south toward the cloud. Already the sails had been furled, to give the migratory horde leeway. In. the feeble winds of the equator, we could not possibly have outrun or dodged the fish.
Hie nets were ready. “Get below, men,” Desperandum told the crewmen. They hastened into the hold and slammed the hatch behind them. Already the fish swarm was assuming ominous proportions.
“Newhouse!” the captain shouted. I walked closer and saluted. “This way if you please,” Desperandum continued. He opened a low door in the side of the metal pillbox and we walked inside. Touching switches, Desperandum turned on a dim light in the ceiling and set an air filter humming.
They were rather cramped quarters, only seven feet by seven feet, and Desperandum’s vast bulk took up much of that. In addition, there was a metal counter that supported Desperandum’s binoculars and a large flat tally box with a small television screen. Two tiny white bUps crossed the screen, starting from the top and moving slowly and erratically.
Desperandum reached under the counter and handed me a notebook and a pen. “You can take of! your mask,” he said. “The filters should have cleaned the air by now.”
I took off my mask and dropped it under the counter. “You can write, I hope,” Desperandum said.
“Certainly, Captain,” I said.
“Good. You’re here to take notes. Copy down the numbers I give you into that column I’ve listed as ‘individuals.’ Understand?”