November 22 - Distressed

"These are the only Wailers I don't have a problem with."
June, the newest and youngest addition to The Friendship giggled at Tre's whalers/Wailers pun, and Oleg rolled his eyes as they sipped herbal tea and checked navigation charts. Rastaman Vibration played on Tre's iPod stereo.
"But we're getting close to where we can sometimes hear the whales' songs, so . . " He turned the music down, and the quiet of the middle of the Pacific struck June as it always did. The hull of The Friendship groaned as it rocked gently in the late night waves. Occasionally they heard the sound of water lapping against the side of the boat or their flag flapping in the wind. Other than that, it was quiet.
Outside the navigation room, a crescent moon was hidden by clouds, the ocean was black, and the night was still. They listened for the whales' song.
More specifically, they listened for the whales' distress song; they were in an area well known to be frequented by whalers.
The Friendship's reason for being in that area was twofold: to prevent the slaughter of blue whales, and to study them. They did the latter both in the field and in a marine biology research center off the coast of Monterrey.
It was during a similar voyage several months ago that they had rescued a pregnant blue whale from whalers who had grazed her with a harpoon. The Friendship had intervened, taken her under their wing, and all but dragged her back to Monterrey.
There, she slowly recovered while they performed research on her. Through this research, they were able to identify and speculate on the meanings of several different commonly heard whale songs: distress, gratitude, mating, impending labor, and others. Indeed, Rita, as they took to calling her, birthed a healthy calf while under their watch, a first for their research center.
"Everybody knows about the whales' songs," Tre whispered to June as The Friendship rocked quietly. "But few people appreciate just how meaningful they are."
Oleg kept a casual hand on the ship's controls and listened as Tre tried to romance yet another impressionable young idealist through his descriptions of the whales' songs as haunting, otherworldly, and soulful, which, Oleg had to admit, they were.
But to Oleg, ultimately, the songs were really just communication. And to be so dazzled by the fact that another species of mammal was capable of something so basic as communication belittled them. Of course they could communicate. They were a highly evolved, intelligent, sentient species. Why wouldn't they be able to communicate meaningfully?
But the fact that they were learning to understand the whales' songs--with the hopes of one day communicating with them directly--was something that interested Oleg greatly. There was so much about the songs' pitch, tone, length, and volume that they had yet to understand. It was all endlessly fascinating, and--yes, Tre--hauntingly beautiful.
And then there it was, the whales' song.
Distress.
They got a lock on the song's source and set course for it, rightfully thinking they would see the whaling ship that was hunting the whale before they saw the whale itself.
Within minutes, they were alongside a whaling vessel that was bearing down on a blue whale that breached nearby. Even in the darkness of night, the whale could be seen. It was so close to the whaling ship it seemed to be attempting to engage them.
Oleg and Tre could see the whale's wake right near the whaler's main harpoon gun, which was probably where the whaling ship had mounted a device that drew herds of whales to the ship by mimicking whale mating songs.
It seemed to be working with this one. A solo whale was practically presenting himself to the whaling ship. Given its point blank proximity to the whaler, it would take a miracle to prevent him from being shot.
Oleg bleated The Friendship's horn and desperately tried to maneuver The Friendship between the whale and the whaling ship while June, Tre, and other volunteers shone lights on the scene and videotaped it.
There was a stand off, and a lot of yelling and taunting, but ultimately the whaling ship relented, likely out of the fear of CNN, YouTube, and every other website in cyberspace getting their hands on a clip of a big, mean, evil whaling ship attacking an innocent whale and/or peace loving environmental activists/scientists. It backed away and set course for other waters.
Oleg, Tre, June, and the rest of The Friendship's crew rejoiced. They'd saved another whale.
After high fives and celebrations on deck, they quickly quieted down to listen for the gratitude song from the whale, but it never came, nor did any other song. Not from that whale.
In fact, they had misunderstood the whale's song that had drawn them to where the whaling ship was. It was not a song of distress, but of depression.
Unbeknownst to them, the whale they had seen that night was actually the mate of Rita, the pregnant female they had rescued and taken back to Monterrey all those months ago. After she was taken out of their area, he had searched and searched for her in vain, and over the months that followed he had gone into a deep depression over the absence of his mate and their calf.
Having given up hope in ever seeing them again, he had gone to that area, knowing full well that it was frequented by whalers. He was hoping they would help him end his misery.
But the crew of The Friendship had mistaken his despondent song as a cry for help. And because of their actions, he survived the night.
Eventually, Tre, June, and Oleg gave up on hearing the whale's gratitude song. They went back inside and charted a course for Monterrey.
As they left the area, the solitary blue whale they'd saved from the whalers circled the area a couple of times and then swam silently into the night.