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Chapter 12

"Well," demanded Grimes irritably, "what have you found out? We haven't much time left, you know. Sonya insists that our friend be put ashore on a deserted beach not one second later than three days after his rescue . . ."

"We must keep to the script," stated Sonya firmly.

"Script? What script? Damn it all, I hoped that by rescuing Jonah we should be able to find out just when we are—and what do we find? What does our data bank, our fabulous electronic encyclopedia have to tell us? Just that the Book of Jonah is only a legend, a piece of allegorical fiction, and that the Great Fish symbolizes Dagon or some other ichthyological deity. What does it matter if we keep him aboard the Quest three days, three weeks, or three months? Or three years . . ."

"We mustn't tamper with history," she said.

"History is always being tampered with," he grumbled.

"Yes. But not at the time when it's actually happening."

"There has to be a first time for everything," he said. But he realized that they were all against him. None of the Quest's crew was religious—but they all had their superstitions. Holy Writ is Holy Writ. And here, under heavy sedation in the ship's sick bay, was living proof that there is more to the Bible than mere mythology.

"Better stick to the script," said Williams.

"It would be the wisest course," agreed Carnaby.

Grimes looked around at the faces of his other senior officers, saw that all of them were in favor of returning the castaway to land. He couldn't help grinning. So the unfortunate man was a double Jonah, as it were, first thrown overboard from the surface vessel, now to be ejected from the spaceship. But it was a pity. Further probing by Mayhew and Clarisse could well have turned up information of value.

"So we put him down," said the Commodore heavily, at last. Then, to Mayhew, "But you must have found something out, Ken . . ."

"Given time," murmured the telepath, "we can promise to crack any nut you throw onto our plate. But we haven't had the time." He paused. "How shall I put it, sir? Like this, perhaps. Just imagine that you are trying to question somebody with whom you share a common language, but that this somebody is so terrified that he screams wordlessly, without so much as a second's break . . . That's the way it is. Oh, we can read thoughts, to use the common jargon, but it helps a lot when those thoughts are reasonably coherent. His are not."

"So he's still terrified?"

"Too right he is. Try to look at it from his viewpoint. He's in the belly of a great fish. He has every right to be terrified."

"Like hell he has. He's being pampered worse than any VIP passenger aboard a luxury liner. Specially cooked meals, served by our most attractive stewardesses . . ."

"Whom he regards as succubi just waiting for the chance to dig their painted claws into him to drag him down to Hell . . ."

"But can't you and Clarisse get into his mind, to calm him down?"

"Don't you think that we haven't tried, that we still aren't trying? Given time, we should succeed. But three days just aren't long enough."

"And the three days are almost up," said Sonya, looking at her watch.

Grimes sighed, got up from his seat, led the way from his quarters to the control room. He looked at the periscope screen, but Faraway Quest was above the clouds; nothing was visible but a restless sea of gleaming white vapor. But Carnaby had constructed a chart and proudly showed it to the Commodore. "We're here," he said, stabbing with a pencil point at the dot with the small circle around it. "Here" appeared to be over the sea. "And there," he added, "is the city . . ."

Grimes took the pencil. "And we land," he said, "here. As far as we could see before the cloud covered things it's a nice little well-sheltered bay. And it should be no more than three days' not very strenuous walk from the coast to the city. I suppose that it is Ninevah?"

Nobody answered him.

"Mphm." He played with the dividers, measuring off the distance. "I still think that it would save trouble all round if I took the pinnace down after dark and landed our passenger right at his destination."

Sonya quoted solemnly, "And the Lord spake into the fish, and it vomited out Jonah upon the dry land. And the word of the Lord came unto Jonah the second time, saying, Arise, go into Ninevah, that great city, and preach unto it the preaching that I bid thee. So Jonah arose, and went unto Ninevah, according to the word of the Lord. Now Ninevah was an exceeding great city of three days' journey . . ."

"Is the amphibian ready, Commander Williams?" asked Grimes.

"All ready, Skipper," replied Williams.

"Then let's get it over with," said the Commodore.

* * *

He handled the small craft himself, bringing her down from the mother ship in a steep dive, levelling off just before he hit the water, landing on the sea about half a kilometer from the shore. He had decided against landing on the beach itself; perhaps to have done so would have constituted a deviation from the script. The little bay was not as sheltered as it had looked from the air; there was a moderate westerly swell running and the pinnace wallowed sickeningly. Grimes was not at all surprised to hear somebody in the passenger cabin abaft him being violently ill. He felt sorry for the native, assuming (correctly) that it was he; the combination of seasickness with overwhelming terror must be almost unbearable. Then he ignored the miserable sounds and the unmistakable reek of vomit, concentrated on running in at right angles to the line of breakers. The aerial survey had shown that there were no submerged reefs to worry about—but it would do the pinnace and her occupants no good at all if she were allowed to broach to, if she were rolled over and over and dumped violently onto hard sand. He applied lift so that the craft became barely airborne; in the unlikely event that there were any observers ashore this would not be obvious.

He skimmed over the surf, steering for a tall, solitary palm tree. He roared over rather than through the shallows. Then, gently, he cut the inertial drive, dropped down to the dry sand with hardly a jar. He turned in his seat, saw that Sonya and Mayhew were standing and were supporting the native between them. The poor devil was in a sorry state, looking at least half dead with fear and nausea. But his troubles were almost over. (Or were they just starting?)

"Take him out, John?" asked Sonya.

"Yes, as long as you're sure that it's according to the Book."

"It has to be," she said coldly.

The 'midships door opened and the little ramp extended itself. Sonya and Mayhew guided the man—he looked like little more than a bundle of filthy rags—towards the opening. He seemed in no condition for a forty-kilometer walk—but he, too, would have to follow the script.

With blessed solidity under his bare feet, with familiar sights around him, he recovered fast. But he fell prone, trying to embrace the earth. At last he sat up, looking down at his hands, through which he was dribbling a stream of golden sand. There was an incredulous smile on his dark, bearded face—a smile that swiftly faded as his regard shifted upwards, as he saw the beached amphibian still there. Hastily he looked away, staring inshore, drawing renewed strength from the prosaic (to him) spectacle of rolling dunes, clumped palm trees and a serrated ridge of blue mountains on the horizon. He got shakily to his feet and started to walk, with surprising vigor, heading inland, away from the accursed sea and its denizens.

"Another satisfied customer," muttered Grimes.

Sonya and Mayhew got back into the pinnace and as soon as the craft was sealed the Commodore lifted her and set course for the waiting Faraway Quest.

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Framed