So far, all Franklin’s missions had been fairly conventional ones; he had had to face nothing as hair-raising as Kircher’s exploit, and was not sure how he would react if such an occasion arose. Of course, he could always turn down any assignment that involved abnormal risks; his contract was quite specific on that point. But the “suicide clause,” as it was sardonically called, was very much a dead letter. Any warden who invoked it, except under the most extreme circumstances, would incur no displeasure from his superiors, but he would thereafter find it very hard to live with his colleagues.
Franklin’s first operation beyond the call of duty did not come his way for almost five years—five busy, crowded, yet in retrospect curiously uneventful, years. But when it came, it more than made up for the delay.
Fourteen
THE CHIEF ACCOUNTANT dropped his tables and charts on the desk, and peered triumphantly at his little audience over the rims of his antiquated spectacles.
“So you see, gentlemen,” he said, “there’s no doubt about it. In this area here”—he stabbed at the map again—“sperm whale casualties have been abnormally high. It’s no longer a question of the usual random variations in the census numbers. During the migrations of the last five years, no less than nine plus or minus two whales have disappeared in this rather small area.”
“Now, as you are all aware, the sperm whale has no natural enemies, except for the orcas that occasionally attack small females with calves. But we are quite sure that no killer packs have broken into this area for several years, and at least three adult males have disappeared. In our opinion, that left only one possibility.”
“The sea bed here is slightly less than four thousand feet down, which means that a sperm whale can just reach it with a few minutes’ time for hunting on the bottom before it has to return for air. Now, ever since it was discovered that Physeter feeds almost exclusively on squids, naturalists have wondered whether a squid can ever win when a whale attacks it. The general opinion was that it couldn’t, because the whale is much larger and more powerful.”
“But we must remember that even today no one knows now big the giant squid does grow; the Biology Section tells me that tentacles of Bathyteutis Maximus have been found up to eighty feet long. Moreover, a squid would only have to keep a whale held down for a matter of a few minutes at this depth, and the animal would drown before it could get back to the surface So a couple of years ago we formulated the theory that in this area there lives at least one abnormally large squid. We—ahem—christened him Percy.”
“Until last week, Percy was only a theory. Then, as you know Whale S.87693 was found dead on the surface, badly mauled and with its body covered with the typical scars caused by squid claws and suckers. I would like you to look at this photograph.”
He pulled a set of large glossy prints out of his brief case and passed them around. Each showed a small portion of a whale’s body which was mottled with white streaks and perfectly circular rings. A foot ruler lay incongruously in the middle of the picture to give an idea of the scale.
“Those, gentlemen, are sucker marks. They go up to six inches in diameter. I think we can say that Percy is no longer a theory. The question is: What do we do about him? He is costing us at least twenty thousand dollars a year. I should welcome any suggestions.”
There was a brief silence while the little group of officials looked thoughtfully at the photographs. Then the director said: “I’ve asked Mr. Franklin to come along and give his opinion. What do you say, Walter? Can you deal with Percy?”
“If I can find him, yes. But the bottom’s pretty rugged down there, and it might be a long search. I couldn’t use a normal sub, of course—there’d be no safety margin at that depth, especially if Percy started putting on the squeeze. Incidentally, what size do you think he is?”
The chief accountant, usually so glib with figures, hesitated for an appreciable instant before replying.
“This isn’t my estimate,” he said apologetically, “but the biologists say he may be a hundred and fifty feet long.”
There were some subdued whistles, but the director seemed unimpressed. Long ago he had learned the truth of the old cliché that there were bigger fish in the sea than ever came out of it. He knew also that, in a medium where gravity set no limit to size, a creature could continue to grow almost indefinitely as long as it could avoid death. And of all the inhabitants of the sea, the giant squid was perhaps the safest from attack. Even its one enemy, the sperm whale, could not reach it if it remained below the four-thousand-foot level.
“There are dozens of ways we can kill Percy if we can locate him,” put in the chief biologist. “Explosives, poison, electrocution—any of them would do. But unless there’s no alternative, I think we should avoid killing. He must be one of the biggest animals alive on this planet, and it would be a crime to murder him.”
“Please, Dr. Roberts!” protested the director. “May I remind you that this bureau is only concerned with food production—not with research or the conservation of any animals except whales. And I do think that murder is rather a strong term to apply to an overgrown mollusk.”
Dr. Roberts seemed quite unabashed by the mild reprimand.
“I agree, sir,” he said cheerfully, “that production is our main job, and that we must always keep economic factors in mind. At the same time, we’re continually co-operating with the Department of Scientific Research and this seems another case where we can work together to our mutual advantage. In fact, we might even make a profit in the long run.”
“Go on,” said the director, a slight twinkle in his eye. He wondered what ingenious plan the scientists who were supposed to be working for him had cooked up with their opposite numbers in Research.
“No giant squid has ever been captured alive, simply because we’ve never had the tools for the job. It would be an expensive operation, but if we are going to chase Percy anyway, the additional cost should not be very great. So I suggest that we try to bring him back alive.”
No one bothered to ask how. If Dr. Roberts said it could be done, that meant he had already worked out a plan of campaign. The director, as usual, bypassed the minor technical details involved in hauling up several tons of fighting squid from a depth of a mile, and went straight to the important point.
“Will Research pay for any of this? And what will you do with Percy when you’ve caught him?”
“Unofficially, Research will provide the additional equipment if we make the subs and pilots available. We’ll also need that floating dock we borrowed from Maintenance last year; it’s big enough to hold two whales, so it can certainly hold one squid. There’ll be some additional expenditure here— extra aeration plant for the water, electrified mesh to stop Percy climbing out, and so on. In fact, I suggest that we use the dock as a lab while we’re studying him.”
“And after that?”
“Why, we sell him.”
“The demand for hundred-and-fifty-foot squids as household pets would seem to be rather small.”
Like an actor throwing away his best line, Dr. Roberts casually produced his trump card.
“If we can deliver Percy alive and in good condition, Marineland will pay fifty thousand dollars for him. That was Professor Milton’s first informal offer when I spoke to him this morning. I’ve no doubt that we can get more than that; I’ve even been wondering if we could arrange things on a royalty basis. After all, a giant squid would be the biggest attraction Marineland ever had.”
“Research was bad enough,” grumbled the director. “Now it looks as if you’re trying to get us involved in the entertainment business. Still, as far as I’m concerned it sounds fairly plausible. If Accounts can convince me that the project is not too expensive, and if no other snags turn up, we’ll go ahead with it. That is, of course, if Mr. Franklin and his colleagues think it can be done. They’re the people who’ll have to do the work.”
“If Dr. Roberts has any practical plan, I’ll be glad to discuss it with him. It’s certainly a very interesting project”.
That, thought Franklin, was the understatement of the year. But he was not the sort of man who ever waxed too enthusiastic over any enterprise, having long ago decided that this always resulted in eventual disappointment. If “Operation Percy” came off, it would be the most exciting job he had ever had in his five years as a warden. But it was too good to be true; something would turn up to cancel the whole project.