Fatigue pushed them onward.  Concepts of time diffused in their wake.  Hunger atrophied—a hollow thought redressed by expectation. 
     On and on and on they soared through the comforting cold of liquid space.  Above them the great void; below the dense, rocky base of the world; ahead only blackness.  Gliding up, then down, the congregation moved as a single entity, graceful behemoths linked by a shared resolve.  But the longer their pilgrimage progressed, the warmer their environs became, the more unorthodox their course seemed.  Uneasiness circulated throughout the cluster.  At first it was only a feeling, a vague sense of apprehension.  Then a solitary voice cried out.
     Let us turn back and make for more temperate currents!
     For the first time since the journey began, their communal purpose wavered.  Doubt and indecision spread unspoken.
     We must keep going, called the master pilot.  Follow me, my brothers.  Follow me to a better world!
     I’m no longer certain, said another.  Why must we do this?
     There is no longer a place for us in this world, said the pilot with authority.  It has been fouled by those with no reverence for the true order of things.  We are a spiritual minority wallowing in the swill of a soulless majority.  But have faith, brothers.  A greater world awaits us—a world so wondrous and bountiful it defies imagination.  All you must do is follow me.  Follow me through the depths of despair and into the light of never-ending bliss.
     A swell of assent surged through the congregation, and its collective intent was fortified.  The master pilot increased his speed, relying on renewed hope to sustain them.  Conviction and a shared allegiance drove them on.
     It won’t be long now, he assured them.  Do not fear when the time comes.  The threshold to the new world may seem bewildering, even painful.  Suppress the pain.  Ignore the strangeness of it all.  Instead rejoice in what lies ahead.  Drink from the pool of righteousness I offer you, and have faith.  Above all, have faith.
     On they swam through foreign waters that grew more and more tainted.  On and on until the brine tasted of silt and the base of the world grew closer…ever closer.  When it was nearly close enough to reach out and touch, misgivings were resurrected.  The congregation looked to their leader for guidance.  He accelerated.  They followed.

     With the suddenness of a predatory attack, they broke through the surface of their world into the blinding light of the void.  A solid mass clutched their bodies and held them immobile.  They struggled desperately to breathe, crushed by their own monstrous weight.  The void and its brightness were familiar, but the gritty firmness beneath them was terrifying.  Dozens cried out in fear and pain.
     Fear not! commanded the master pilot.  This is the threshold.  Bear witness to the strength of your brothers and trust in that in which you believe.  A new world awaits us.  Have faith!
 

Bruce Golden
...I was inspired to write this story after seeing several news stories about groups of whales beaching themselves, and reading one newspaper story in particular.  I began to wonder why these whales would do such a thing, and whether it might be because they were more human than we think.  That led to this thought: what if these whales were responding to a messianic figure in their midst--sort of a Jim Jones figure?  Such religious fervor is contrary to my nature, but that's how I approached it.

Bruce's most recent fiction sales have been to Oceans of the Mind, Aberrant Dreams, Postscripts, and Nemonymous. Asimov’s Science Fiction says of his new novel, “If Mickey Spillane had collaborated with both Frederik Pohl and Philip K. Dick, he might have produced Bruce Golden’s Better Than Chocolate.”

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