"We are the whales," says Phyla. "the ocean's voice. Keepers of the
deep eternal secrets." She strokes the fishbowl of warm seawater.
"We want krill," she says, surprising herself. "You have boats. Go
north. Bring us krill." Even this crowd hoots and leaves. A few stay.
"Prepare to be boarded!" says Phyla, still translating. "Drop nets, me hearties!"
"Good job," say the whales. "Now..."
Then, Phyla gets another radio in her head: one eye's made of
crystal. "Fishing craft, change course ten degrees."
"I know who you are," she says, "and why you're here."
To her crew: "Load the cannons."
Tue Jun 06 2006 23:57 Anacrusish #5:
[This is the entry to which the previous entry was supposed to be a bonus.]
While I wait for feedback on my story, here's another Anacrusis-type story for you.
Phyla
