whale ships have a brain, but that only takes care of autonomic functions. Allows it to act like a whale for hours on end - diving, breathing, stuff like that. But without one of the whaley boys tapped in, they're just dumb machines, limited function. The pilots control higher functions - navigation and such. They really show off their stuff in these humpbacks - the breaching, the singing, you know."
"This thing sings?" Nate couldn't help himself. He wanted to hear a whale sing from the inside.
"Of course it sings. You heard it sing."
Since Nate had been on, the only sound the whale ship had made was the beating of its enormous flukes and the explosive blow every ten minutes or so.
"I hate it when they sing," said Poe.
"What's the purpose of the song?" Nate asked. He didn't care who these guys were or what they were doing. He now had the opportunity to get the answer to a question he'd pursued for most of his adult life. "Why do they sing?"
"Because we tell them to," said Poynter. "Why'd you think?"
"No. It's not right." Nate buried his face in his hands. "Kidnapped by morons."
Scooter let loose with a series of frantic chirps. The whaley boy was staring out the eye into the blue Pacific.
"School of tuna outside," said Poe.
"Go, Scooter," said Poynter. "Go get some."
The restraints retracted from around Scooter's waist, and the creature stood up for the first time since Nate had come on board. He was taller than Nate, maybe six-six, with lean gray legs that looked like those of a giant bullfrog crossbred with a fullback and terminated in long, webbed feet that resembled the rear flippers of a walrus. Scooter took three quick steps and dove at the floor in the back of the whale. There was a whooshing sound, and he disappeared, headfirst, through the back orifice, which sealed behind him with a distinct pop.
Poe stepped into the seat that Scooter had vacated and looked out through the eye. "Nate, check this out. Watch how these guys hunt."
Nate looked out the whale's eye and saw Scooter's lithe form swim by at incredible speed, darting back and forth with astounding agility in pursuit of a twenty-pound tuna.
In the water the whaley boy's eyes no longer bugged out as they did inside the whale. Like whales and dolphins, Nate realized, whaley boys possessed muscles that could actually change the shape of the eye for focusing in either air or water. Scooter did a rapid turn and snatched the tuna in his jaws not ten feet from the eye of the whale. Nate could hear the snap and saw blood in the water around Scooter's mouth.
"Yes!" said Poe. "It's sashimi tonight."
Nate had eaten nothing but raw fish since he'd been on board the whale ship, but this was the first time he'd seen it caught. Still, he couldn't quite share Poe's enthusiasm. "Is this all you eat? Raw fish?"
"It beats the alternatives," said Poe. "The whale carries a nutrient paste that's like krill puree."
"Oh, my God," said Nate.
Poynter leaned in close to Nate, so he was only inches from the scientist's ear. "Thus the somewhat substantial demand for culinary variety, as in - oh, I don't know - a pastrami on rye!"
"I said I was sorry," Nate muttered.
"Yeah, right."
"Drop me off anywhere. I'll go get you one."
"We don't land these things on shore."
"You don't?"
"Except to paint 'bite me' on the flukes," said Poe.
"Yeah, except for that," said Poynter.
Skippy meeped as Scooter scooted in through the poop chute with tuna in hand. Upon seeing the pilot's entrance, Nate started thinking, for the first time since he'd been eaten, about how to escape.
This is just stupid, Amy thought. She'd been paddling like a madwoman for four hours and was still barely halfway to Molokai. She'd been past the channel wind line for two of those four hours and so battled four-foot swells and a crosswind that threatened to take her out to sea.
"Who gives GPS coordinates for a meeting? Who does business like that?" She'd been shouting into the wind on and off for an hour, then checking the little liquid-crystal map on the display of the GPS receiver. The "you are here" dot never seemed to move. Well, that wasn't true. If she paused from paddling to take a drink of water or apply some sunscreen, the dot seemed to jump off course a mile at a time.
"Are you guys