"Small War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Katherine)

There is a record album consisting of the songs of the humpback whale; recorded on the spot, underwater, without any Disneyesque touches to mar it anywhere. It is a moot question whether these songs are cetacean works of art, or partly conversations and only partly works of art—but I think it must be impossible to listen to them without experiencing some kind of thrill. People with receptive ears—those who are willing to be communicated with, and who know communication when they hear it—surely experience the aesthetic thrill while listening.

Katherine MacLean is nobody's aesthete. She invented logic in the cradle and has been instructing her teachers ever since; except that now she is a teacher at a university and is wisely letting her students instruct her.



Katherine MacLean



SMALL WAR



Humming smoothly, a giant ship designed to kill, dismember, cook and can whales moved toward a society of whales: bulls and their harems and playfully sporting pups.

An Audubon Society submarine followed the giant ship, swerving nervously as the people inside grew more excited.

"They mustn't do it! I can't let them do it!" Tears streaked Mrs. Appleton's cheeks. She was fat and rich, and she had put up half her personal fortune for the submarine study of the social life of whales. Her crew consisted of a mechanic, a field naturalist, a specialist in dolphin language, and a xenobiologist and universal linguist. They were surprised by her tears but they all shared the same anger and dismay as they saw the commercial ship prepare to destroy the herd they had been studying. Fury struggled with caution.

"Maybe we can stop them." "Let's ram them." "Maybe the submarine could . . . could . . ."

The mechanic made a gesture demanding attention. "We can ram a hole . . ."

Mrs. Appleton brightened and wiped her eyes, restraining sniffles. "If we crash into them, will it make a hole?"

"It will go through four feet of pack ice to get to the air, ma'am. It's built for ramming. The front end is pointed. We could make a hole below their waterline that would let in water."

Mrs. Appleton shoved the throttle forward and they took up the chase after the whale-killing ship. The fat woman handled the control with skill and determination. She fastened safety straps. "Everyone strap in for the crash."

"Strike amidship," said the mechanic. "Strike just aft the center bulge."

They strapped in. The xenobiologist brought Mrs. Appleton a large foam pillow and stuffed it between her and the instrument panel.

He was a specialist in the study of totally alien species from other planets, and he wanted to live long enough to meet an alien intelligent species someday when the spaceships made contact. To live so long requires caution. He fastened his safety straps and said, "Are you sure this is safe?"

"No," said the mechanic.

"Whales help their friends," said the dolphin expert.

"We can't let them kill Horace and Aimee," Mrs. Appleton said, gripping the wheel tightly and hardening her double chin with determination. She was referring to two whales. She said, "They'd help us. So we have to help them. Hang on. Hang on everybody."

They watched the huge side of the whale-killer ship loom over them, growing bigger and closer, and gripped handholds.

A harpoon with an explosive charge struck and exploded against the hull of the submarine, veering it sideways. Therefore, they struck the whaling ship at a slant. Striking armor plate was not in any case the same as striking pack ice. The impact was shattering.

Badly dented, leaking, with controls shattered, the submarine sank slowly, tilting at odd angles as it went deeper. The big factory ship hummed on its way with a rent in its side below the waterline.

Presently four survivors of the submarine bobbed to the surface, their scuba suits inflated like balloons.