Scan McMullen - A Greater Vision

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A Greater Vision

by Sean McMullen

other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the copyright.

Published by Seattle Book Company, www.seattlebook.com.

* * *

The seven thousand foot hull of the Kondolae was nearly submerged, no more than a dark, smooth,

undulating shoal in the glow before sunrise. With great, gentle gulps its two hundred foot mouth pumped

water down the tubular muscle that was its hull, rippling contractions of polymer-braced collagen matting

squeezing it along until it was vented, slightly warmer with the waste heat from thirty fusion power plants.

It was named after the giant hunter of the Dreamtime who had been transformed into a whale.

The Kondolae was a long way north of its Antarctic harvesting area, where it could dilate the ridge

along its back into a tube two thousand feet across to swallow icebergs for the meltworks in the south of

Australis. It had been assigned to special duties for ten years now, awaiting the incident that would

transform it from a powered ice barge into a shaper of history.

A small area of the deck slowly bulged up, then gaped open with a creaking like hemp rope being

stretched. Three figures in dark environment suits stepped out onto the rubbery, undulating deck, then the

hump closed and subsided. Wavelets washed around their feet, and from a distance it would have

seemed as if they were standing on the water in the middle of the open ocean.

Nunga had been flown out to meet the Kondolae only a week earlier, once it had become obvious that

the big submarine would really have to be used. He had the status of Counciliar Overseer, and he would

be in charge of operations once the decision to strike had been made. That decision was not his,

however. It belonged to Wirana, the wild card among the vessel's crew of nine hundred. She was the

tactical navigator.

Nunga was in his late forties, and was full of the drive and aggression so common in those newly

installed in positions of power. Mudati had been a captain for two decades. Nunga dyed a few individual

strands of his black beard grey, to give an impression of age and authority. Mudati's hair and beard flared

from the collar of his environment suit like a white halo.

"When will dilation start?" asked Nunga. "The breeze is gentle, it's perfect weather for the fog

generators to raise a screen."

"There's plenty of time," replied Wirana, deferential but firm.

"We don't have time. We have between five and eight days, depending on the wind and the use that

our quarry makes of it. This vessel takes a full day to dilate to maximum diameter."

"Premature dilation would be unwise," Mudati advised. "It would slow our progress and strain the

power-plants."

"But if we strike at once we'll not have to move for more than a single day under full dilation.

Tomorrow, just before dawn. That would be ideal."

"There are still six hundred miles before contact," Wirana said, then turned to stare out to sea.

Mudati considered the two opinions for a moment, then announced his decision. "I'm not convinced

that there's any need to strike at all. I remember when we were shadowing Fernam Dulmo's fleet six

years ago. The Elder's observer used the same arguments that you do, but the threat came to nothing."

Nunga folded his arms and scowled, his back to the dawn.

"Dulmo was just a cipher. This is different."

"The answer is no-- for now. Wirana, when do you think we might strike?"

"Perhaps in four nights, but no earlier."

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