Christopher Moore - Fluke, Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings

"You can stop blowing now," she said.

"Yet another phrase I didn't think I'd be hearing in this lifetime," Nate said. He let go of his nostrils and took a deep breath. The air seemed fresher than in the humpback.

"Welcome to my blue, Dr. Quinn, I'm Cielle Nuñez. How do you feel?"

"Pooped." Quinn grinned. She was about his age, Hispanic with short dark hair peppered gray and wide brown eyes that caught the bioluminescence off the walls and reflected what looked like laughter. She was barefoot and wearing generic khakis like Poynter and Poe. He shook her hand.

"Cute," she said. "Come forward with me, Doctor. I'm sure it's been a while since you were able to stand up straight." She led him down the corridor, which reminded Nate of when, as kids, he and his buddies had explored storm drains in Vancouver. It was tall enough to walk in, but not tall enough to stand in comfortably.

"Actually, Cielle, I'm not a doctor. I have a Ph.D., but the doctor thing —»

"I understand. I'm captain of this rig, but if you call me 'Captain, I'll ignore you."

"I wanted to hear the humpback sing before I left. You know, from the inside."

"You will. There'll be time."

The corridor started to widen as they moved forward, and Nate was actually able to walk normally, or as normally as one can walk when barefoot on whaleskin. This skin had a mottled appearance, whereas on the humpback it had been nearly solid gray. He noticed that on this ship there were wide veins of bioluminescence on the floor, casting a yellow light up upward that gave everything a sinister green glow. Nuñez paused by what appeared to be portals on either side of them.

"This is as good a place as any," she said. "Now, turn sideways and take my hand."

Quinn did as he was asked. Her hand felt warm but dry. She was a small woman, but powerfully built, he could feel the strength in her grip. "Now, we're just going to walk as the ship moves. Don't stop until I say, or you'll fall on your ass."

"WHAT?"

"Okay, Scooter, roll it."

"Scooter?"

"All pilots are called Scooter or Skippy. They didn't tell you?"

"They weren't very forthcoming with information."

"Humpback crews are a bunch of yahoos." Nuñez smiled. "You know the type, like navy fighter pilots topside? All ego and testosterone."

"I got more cretin than yahoo," Nate said.

"Well, with that particular bunch, yes."

The whole corridor started to move.

"Here we go, step, step, step, that's good." They were walking across the walls as the ship rolled. When they were standing on the ceiling, the roll stopped. "Nice, Scooter," Nuñez said, obviously communicating through some sort of hidden intercom. Then, to Nate, "He's so good."

"We were upside down to make the transfer?"

"Exactly. You're a smart guy. Look, these are cabins. She touched a lighted node on the wall, and a skin portal folded back on itself. Again Nate was put in mind of the blowhole of a toothed whale, but it was so big, nearly four feet across, it was just… unnatural. Lines of light pumped to life past the portal to reveal a small cabin, a bed — apparently made of the same skin as the rest of the interior — but also a table and a chair. Nate couldn't make out what material they might be made of, but it looked like plastic.

"Bone," Nuñez said, noticing him noticing. "They're as much a part of the ship as the walls. All living tissue. There are shelves and cubbyholes for your stuff in the bulkheads, closed now. Obviously everything has to be stowed for little maneuvers like the one we just performed. The motion isn't as bad as on the humpbacks. You'll find you'll get used to it, and then you can move about just as if you were on land."

"You're right. I didn't even notice we were moving."

"That would be because we're not," said Nuñez.

The sound of whaley-boy snickering wheezed down the corridor toward them.

"You guys are supposed to be working," Nuñez said to the air. "Prepare to get under way." She turned to Quinn. "Can I buy you a cup of joe? Maybe answer some of your questions?"

"You're offering?" Quinn felt his heart jump with excitement. Information, without Poynter and Poe's goofing obfuscation? He was thrilled. "That would be fantastic."

"Don't pee all over yourself, Quinn. It's just coffee."

The corridor opened up into a large bridge. The head of the blue was huge compared to the humpback's. On either side of the entry a whaley boy stood grinning at them as they passed. They were both taller than Quinn, and unlike the Scooter and Skippy of the humpback, their skin was mottled and lighter in color.

Nate paused and grinned back at them. "Let me guess — Skippy and Scooter?"

"Actually, Bernard and Emily 7," said Nuñez.

"You said they all were —»

"I said all pilots were named Skippy and Scooter." She gestured to the front of the bridge, where two whaley boys sitting at control consoles were turning in their seats and grinning. Maybe, thought Nate, they always appeared to be grinning, much like dolphins. He'd made an amateur mistake, assuming that their facial expressions were the analog of human expressions. People often did that with dolphins, even though the animals had no facial muscles to facilitate expression. Even sad dolphins appeared to be smiling.

"What are you two grinning at?" asked Nuñez. "Let's get on the way."

The pilots frowned and turned back to their consoles.

"Well, crap," Nate said.

"What?"

"Nothing, just another theory shot in the ass."

"Yeah, this operation does that, doesn't it?"

Nate felt something stirring in his back pocket and spun around to see a thin, fourteen-inch-long pink penis that was protruding from Bernard's genital slit. It waved at him.

"Holy moly!"

"Bernard!" Nuñez snapped. "Put that away. That is not procedure."

Bernard's unit drooped noticeably from the scolding. He looked at it and chirped contritely.

"Away!" Nuñez barked.

Bernard's willy snapped back up into his genital slit. "Sorry about that," Nuñez said to Nate. "I've never gotten used to that. It's really disconcerting when you're working with one of them and you ask them to hand you a screwdriver or something and his hands are already full. Coffee?"

She led him to a small white table around which four bone chairs protruded from the floor. They looked like old-style Greek saddle chairs — no backs, organic curves, and the high gloss of living bone — but more Gaudi than Flintstone. Quinn sat while Nuñez touched a node on the wall that opened a meter-wide portal that had concealed a sink, several canisters, and what looked like a percolator. Nate wondered about the electricity but forced himself to wait before asking.

While Nuñez prepared the coffee, Quinn looked around. The bridge was easily four times the size of the entire cabin in the humpback. Instead of riding in a minivan, it was like being in a good-size motor home — a very curvy, dimly lit motor home, but about that size. Blue light filtered in through the eyes, illuminating the pilots' faces, which shone like patent leather. Nate was starting to realize that even though everything was organic, living, the whale ship had the same sort of efficiency found on any nautical vessel: every spaced used, everything stowed against movement, everything functional.

"If you need to use the head, it's back down the corridor, fourth hatch on the right."

Emily 7 clicked and squealed, and Nuñez laughed. She had a warm laugh, not forced; it just rolled out of her smooth and easy. "Emily says it seems as if it would be more logical for the head to be in the head, but there goes logic."

"I gave up logic a few days ago."

"You don't have to give it up, just adjust. Anyway, facilities in the head are like everything on the ship — living — but I think you'll figure out the analogs pretty quickly. It's less complicated than an airliner bathroom."