The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) Read Online Free Page A

heavy double doors were closed and the oxygen squeeze begun. He had second thoughts.
    ‘Fear not,’ said his mannequin. ‘While you sleep my circuits will watch through the years. Ions will not stray outside their norms.
    Hypertonics dehydrated his tissues and he slipped into a cryotherapy torpor.
    Larry awoke in a spacious mausoleum – bright fittings, coiled tubules, pulsing heavy machinery. Through a thick-glassed port he saw a young, bright-eyed female. She smiled and greeted him over the speaker.
    ‘How do you feel?’
    He nodded and choked on a ball of squamous epithelial cells. Rebirth suffers some of the same problems as birth.
    ‘My name is Jen-W5-Dever. Fifth-generation descendant of your first cousin. We’re rewarming you to give you a new body and an exciting work assignment.’
    Larry vomited. His head ached in spite of a sedative level that numbed his fingertips. There were tender areas under his spine and elbows. He felt a chill melt away. He lay still while the mannequin tried to rehydrate him. He studied her face – Dever cheekbones.
    The air lock cycled. She entered, squishing through nondescript amorphous mucoid debris, the by-products of his perfusion membranes. His cot frame rotated to the stand-up position. He groped weakly for support.
    ‘My transplant?’ he rasped, choking on a sticky laminated plug of tracheal cells. ‘I’m to be repaired? A new body? . . . Complete?’
    ‘Yes.’ She smiled, glancing at his Med-Ident-Plate. ‘You’ll benefit from the Todd-Sage breakthrough. Work has already begun in your case. Transplant date is only six months away.’
    Larry was ecstatic. His gamble had paid off. Slapping his mannequin, he exclaimed: ‘Wonderful! Let’s get up and take a look around.’
    Meck motors sputtered and whirred sluggishly. ‘Sorry, Larry,’ hummed the vocal membrane, ‘but carbon whiskers have grown in my ferrite cores. We must go out on the road and burn them out.’
    ‘Not so fast.’ Jen smiled, pushing him back with a soft hand. ‘There’s someone waiting to see you.’
    The lettering on the door read: IRA-M17-DEVER, CLAN LEADER, PROJECT IMPLANT, SYSTEM PROCYON. Inside, Larry was introduced to a greying executive surrounded by wall star-maps, mock-ups of space-ships and a cluster of terminals. Printouts were slowly exuding from silent meck lips.
    ‘So this is our Larry,’ greeted Ira, reaching for a handshake. ‘You’re our oldest specimen. OLGA is mighty proud of you.’
    Larry blinked around the room, puzzled.
    ‘He’s only been warm a few minutes,’ explained Jen. ‘I haven’t taken him to the stacks for updating yet.’
    ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Ira. ‘Let him relax, and encourage reminiscing. Where we’re going he may be able to use his memories of a primitive Earth.’
    ‘Primitive?’ mumbled Larry. ‘But, I . . .’
    Ira waved him to silence.
    ‘OLGA wants you whole again, before we Implant Out. You have some very old genes. We’ve all been moulded by a protective society – survival of the unfit, sort of. We’ll ship out to a planet in the Procyon System soon, carrying a good cross-section of Earth biota, rainbow human genes, and nuclear material from our zoo ecosystems: desert, aquatic, forest, marine, mountain, and jungle – Dever’s Ark!!!’
    Larry’s confusion increased. Clothing, furniture, and language hadn’t changed much. These people seemed pleasant, normal.
    ‘Why are we leaving Earth? I like it here.’
    ‘OLGA has selected us for the Procyon Implant. It is an honour to be selected for your genes. We’re going to try and settle on a very hostile planet.’
    ‘Settle?’
    ‘Earth Society has been sending out Starship Implants for as long as I can remember – seeding mankind among the stars before someone or something else does.’
    ‘Why me?’ coughed Larry.
    ‘You’re an important set of genes, the oldest OLGA could find. We need primitive types to tame primitive planets. Your priority number is