Read Online Children of the Old Star by David Lee Summers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Lee Summers
Ads: Link
water. Richard surfaced after a minute on the other side of the boat. Ellis stepped to the other side and leaned over the railing. Richard rose far enough from the water so Ellis could touch him. He sighed and a tear escaped merging with the water.
"Whales know not the ways of space, young Ellis,” said Richard. “Tell me of this Cluster."
"It is a great ball of silver spheres, bigger than you, bigger than your dead brothers, the blue whales. They move through space. Even as we speak, my people and the other peoples of the stars, the Titans, Rd'dyggians, Zahari, all are fighting them."
Richard spouted and clicked, just short of angry. “Why do you fight? Always the same with the tool builders. The art is the death."
Kneeling down by the railing, Ellis swished the water lazily with his left hand. “We tried to talk to the Cluster, peacefully. They began killing all our people."
"Now you know how we feel,” said Richard. “Maybe now the tool builders begin to understand.” Another great spray came from the whale's spout.
"Maybe I begin to understand at least.” Ellis pondered the whale's words. “We see the Cluster as evil, but maybe they're not."
"But maybe they are,” Richard clicked. “Whales know not the ways of space."
"I don't think the Cluster's evil.” Ellis shook his head. “I think one of them has spoken to me."
The whale swished its tail lazily back and forth. “What did it say?"
"I don't know.” Looking toward the bright blue sky, Ellis formed his words. “It seemed to speak in emotional metaphor."
"Like the humpbacks,” mused Richard. “The art is the song."
Mark Ellis looked at the whale, stunned. “Yes,” he said slowly with a newfound understanding. “Just like the humpbacks. The art is the song.” As Richard dove under the boat again, Ellis stood and ambled back to the other side. Stroking his beard, he pondered the clouds. When Richard rose again, spouting, Ellis looked at him. “Do you think the humpbacks could help me understand?"
"The art is the song, nothing more.” Richard's wrinkled form undulated slightly. “They know no more of the ways of space than do I. Besides, young Ellis, to them, man merely chatters. The art is the death."
Ellis sighed. “Can you help me?"
The whale spouted twice, loudly. “I doubt it, the art is the hunt."
"I think the art might be the hunt for the Cluster.” Ellis tugged at his auburn beard.
"The art is also the song, you said."
"The art might also be death.” Again, Ellis let his eyes wander to the clouds. “They don't leave much behind."
"Then you must find those who understand all three, to understand this Cluster.” Richard raised his massive head completely out of the water, bobbing it up and down. “The cycle resumes.” With that Richard once again dove below the waves.
Rapping his fingers on the railing, Ellis stood. He walked back to the wheel and retrieved his pipe, tamping the ash into the ocean. He grinned, reminded of the Native American legend that told that Nantucket had been created when god had emptied his pipe into the ocean. Retrieving a deck chair, Ellis tamped a fresh patch of tobacco into his pipe, lighted it and settled in for the wait. The cycle resumed; Richard had gone down to hunt more squid. Using his tongue, he would bait the animals. When he felt them hit, he would clang loudly, stunning them and close the trap. When ready for more air, he would rise to the surface; the cycle continued.
After nearly fifteen minutes, Richard again rose to the surface, less flamboyantly than before. “The cycle continues,” he said. Richard let his whole body float to the top. Ellis couldn't help but gasp when he saw the entire 62-foot long scarred and wrinkled body.
"The cycle continues, old friend,” said Ellis, nodding appreciatively. “Who would understand the three arts; the hunt, the death and the song?"
Clicking, Richard rolled slightly to his side. “The Rd'dyggians."
"I thought whales knew not the
"Whales know not the ways of space, young Ellis,” said Richard. “Tell me of this Cluster."
"It is a great ball of silver spheres, bigger than you, bigger than your dead brothers, the blue whales. They move through space. Even as we speak, my people and the other peoples of the stars, the Titans, Rd'dyggians, Zahari, all are fighting them."
Richard spouted and clicked, just short of angry. “Why do you fight? Always the same with the tool builders. The art is the death."
Kneeling down by the railing, Ellis swished the water lazily with his left hand. “We tried to talk to the Cluster, peacefully. They began killing all our people."
"Now you know how we feel,” said Richard. “Maybe now the tool builders begin to understand.” Another great spray came from the whale's spout.
"Maybe I begin to understand at least.” Ellis pondered the whale's words. “We see the Cluster as evil, but maybe they're not."
"But maybe they are,” Richard clicked. “Whales know not the ways of space."
"I don't think the Cluster's evil.” Ellis shook his head. “I think one of them has spoken to me."
The whale swished its tail lazily back and forth. “What did it say?"
"I don't know.” Looking toward the bright blue sky, Ellis formed his words. “It seemed to speak in emotional metaphor."
"Like the humpbacks,” mused Richard. “The art is the song."
Mark Ellis looked at the whale, stunned. “Yes,” he said slowly with a newfound understanding. “Just like the humpbacks. The art is the song.” As Richard dove under the boat again, Ellis stood and ambled back to the other side. Stroking his beard, he pondered the clouds. When Richard rose again, spouting, Ellis looked at him. “Do you think the humpbacks could help me understand?"
"The art is the song, nothing more.” Richard's wrinkled form undulated slightly. “They know no more of the ways of space than do I. Besides, young Ellis, to them, man merely chatters. The art is the death."
Ellis sighed. “Can you help me?"
The whale spouted twice, loudly. “I doubt it, the art is the hunt."
"I think the art might be the hunt for the Cluster.” Ellis tugged at his auburn beard.
"The art is also the song, you said."
"The art might also be death.” Again, Ellis let his eyes wander to the clouds. “They don't leave much behind."
"Then you must find those who understand all three, to understand this Cluster.” Richard raised his massive head completely out of the water, bobbing it up and down. “The cycle resumes.” With that Richard once again dove below the waves.
Rapping his fingers on the railing, Ellis stood. He walked back to the wheel and retrieved his pipe, tamping the ash into the ocean. He grinned, reminded of the Native American legend that told that Nantucket had been created when god had emptied his pipe into the ocean. Retrieving a deck chair, Ellis tamped a fresh patch of tobacco into his pipe, lighted it and settled in for the wait. The cycle resumed; Richard had gone down to hunt more squid. Using his tongue, he would bait the animals. When he felt them hit, he would clang loudly, stunning them and close the trap. When ready for more air, he would rise to the surface; the cycle continued.
After nearly fifteen minutes, Richard again rose to the surface, less flamboyantly than before. “The cycle continues,” he said. Richard let his whole body float to the top. Ellis couldn't help but gasp when he saw the entire 62-foot long scarred and wrinkled body.
"The cycle continues, old friend,” said Ellis, nodding appreciatively. “Who would understand the three arts; the hunt, the death and the song?"
Clicking, Richard rolled slightly to his side. “The Rd'dyggians."
"I thought whales knew not the
Similar Books
