Cachalot

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  Or was it simply that in spending so much time seeking them, he was ignoring her?

  At least his obsession was inclusive. He ignored Dawn as well. And despite herself, Cora felt increasingly sympathetic toward the girl. She was too young to take so much death in stride.

  They continued hunting for a body or two. A drowned human would eventually rise to the surface through the production of gas via decomposition. But they found not an arm or a leg or anything to indicate that hundreds of human beings had once occupied this section of sea. To Cora, their absence posed as great a mystery as the still inexplicable assault of the baleens.

  The food from the packages was a welcome change from the bland liquid nutrients supplied by their suits. Cora finished her lunch, slid back into the water. They were entering their fourth day in the sea.

  Such an existence compelled her to consider the catodon's way of thinking. Four days of eating, sleeping, and living in near open ocean is enough to affect anyone's outlook on life. Once she had spent fourteen consecutive hours in the water, but that was nothing compared to four days.

  A gentle current rocked you to sleep. You would awaken beneath the surface of the sea, to find a glass-faced human hovering above you and mumbling concerns. Once or twice a day it was time to bathe outside your gelsuit. It began to seem foolish to get dressed to get back into the water.

  The reef became home as well as refuge. Certain hexalate growths grew as familiar as any furniture. Several territorial teleosts greeted the swimming humans as associates, if not friends. Cora found herself worried one morning when a favorite blue and pink fish failed to appear on schedule, and was relieved when it finally did.

  At night they glowed alongside their protective bemmy, one remaining on watch while the others slept. Thousands of nocturnal reef dwellers commenced to fill their half of the daily cycle of life. She nearly forgot what it was like to be a land-dwelling creature. Her legs were accustomed to functioning in smooth, alternating kicks now. How much easier, more graceful, it was than walking!

  Given gills instead of the confining gelsuit, she believed she could adapt readily to an oceanic existence. She found that she didn't miss solid land at all. In fact, if assured of an ample supply of food and fresh drinking water, she felt she could live this way for months on end.

  Her enthusiasm was not shared by her companions. Of the four, only Mataroreva seemed at home in the water. There his great bulk was neutralized and he became as graceful as a seal. But his moroseness turned to bitterness as the days passed. When he talked to Cora or the others, it was with an increasing and unnatural brusqueness that was quite unlike him.

  By now the last floating fragments of the town of Vai'oire had been carried off by the current. Anything potentially useful to the five refugees had been secured. Rather than drift and think, Cora tried to do some serious work.

  It was while she was studying a particularly interesting anemonelike creature that Dawn swam down to join her. Bubbles rose like clear jelly from the back of her breathing unit.

  "You mustn't blame Sam, you know."

  "What? What makes you think I blame Sam for anything?"

  "I've seen the way you watch him, react to his presence," the girl said. "It's there in the way your body moves, and in your eyes behind your mask."

  Cora turned away from the purple fan she had been examining, looked around. She and Dawn were alone. Whatever expression the girl wore was distorted by the mask. Only her eyes could be seen.

  "Sam-Sam's problem is that he genuinely loves everybody," Dawn explained. "You mustn't think of me as a rival."

  Cora looked away nervously. That was precisely how she had come to regard her.

  "It wasn't only me, you know," the lithe young woman continued. "I think Sam must know half the women on Cachalot. They all like him. Why shouldn't we? He's a wonderful, charming man. But a permanent mate?" She shook her head, the motion given an unintentional portentousness by the resistance of the water.

  Cora checked to make certain her broadcast unit was operating with only enough power for this intimate person-to-person conversation. "What makes you think I was considering Sam as anything more thana ..."

  "Oh, come on," Dawn scoffed gently. "You're as transparent as the water here. Don't you see that I'm trying to help you?"

  "Don't do me any favors," Cora replied coolly.

  "Sam-he..." The girl looked thoughtful. "He isn't designed to love just one woman. Some men and women aren't. He truly loves everyone, and feels- though he might not be able to articulate this feeling -that he should spread that great love around."

  "I think you and I define love in different ways."

  "Maybe we do, Ms. Xamantina. Maybe we do."

  "Call me Cora."

  "Thank you." Dawn smiled gratefully. "I'd like that. I'm only giving you a piece of advice, believe me. It's absurd for you to think of me as a rival for Sam's permanent affection. You can't compete for something that isn't available."

  "That remains to be seen. You seem awfully certain of yourself and your appraisal of Sam."

  "It isn't just Sam," the girl said, oddly reflective. "It's Cachalot. Sam was born here. So was I. If you had been born here, you'd understand his attitude better than you seem to. The competition is more than you imagine, and yet isn't really competition at all."

  "If you're trying to puzzle me, I don't pay much attention to riddles."

  "No, I'm not trying to confuse you." Dawn sighed, partly out of resignation, partly from exasperation.

  "Then tell me straight what you're talking about."

  The young woman hesitated. "I think it may be better for you if you find out for yourself. I'm not sure you'd believe me anyway."

  "You're still doing a poor job of putting me off through confusion and mystery."

  "Never mind." Dawn turned to swim away. "Forget it."

  "Just a minute." Cora put out a restraining hand. "Whatever happens, you should know that I'm terribly sorry for the destruction to your life here. I know that most everyone you liked or loved probably perished with that town. But I've been through too much in my own life to give up a chance at a man like Sam. I've tried to hate him for being with you, but I can't." She shrugged. "There's no such thing as a scientific approach to love."

  "I'm not asking you to give up anything," the girl insisted. Then she smiled shyly and unexpectedly. "In fact, though you probably won't believe this, either, I wish you the best of luck."

  "Thanks. I wish you the same."

  Dawn shook her head again, slowly. "You still don't understand. Someday I hope you will."

  Chapter XII

  "I'm beginning to get itchy, and it's not from living in this gelsuit," Merced said as he and Cora sat atop the familiar bemmy. They had their masks pushed back and were breathing real air. It seemed unnatural to Cora. The gaseous world was cold and harsh compared with the gentle homogenized environment below the surface. She was anxious to return there.

  "There should have been an inquiry by now," Merced continued. "A skimmer ought to have arrived to check up."

  "Not necessarily," Cora argued. "It may not arrive for another two, three days. Even if they tried to contact the town immediately after the disaster, it would still take time to decide that the quiet was due to some catastrophe rather than, say, to a power failure, and then more time to get a ship out here. Remember how long it took us."

  "Why a ship? A skimmer would be faster."

  "I know, but a skimmer doesn't have the carrying capacity of a-" She stopped in midsentence, staring.

  Merced tried to see what had caught her attention. He located it as she identified it. "A skimmer would be faster, but not if there's a ship in the area."

  Two dark blotches marred the southwestern horizon. Merced had a bad moment when he thought they might be whales coming back to make certain no one had escaped. Then the slight spray from their flanks became visible. "Suprafoils!" He slipped his mask back over his head. "Thank goodness. I was getting sick of
field work. Let's inform the others."

  Together they dropped into the water, where their transmissions could be picked up by their companions.

  Rachael was the first to rejoin them, towing the crate containing her neurophon. "I can play again! It's been too long."

  "Withdrawal symptoms?" Cora commented sardonically.

  "Yes." Rachael was too excited to respond to the sarcasm.

  Dawn arrived next, followed closely by Mataroreva. "You sure they're foils?" He spoke to Merced.

  "Unmistakable. Two of them."

  "That's funny." He sounded puzzled. "I would've thought a skimmer from Mou'anui would have arrived first. It's too soon for a foil from Administration Dispatch."

  "Probably these were fishing in the area," Dawn suggested hopefully, "When Mou'anui got the word." Her voice dropped. "Or rather, didn't get the word. They would come here if a general broadcast was made, as it should have been."

  "Makes sense," Mataroreva conceded. "We'll know in a few minutes what they're doing here."

  Cora frowned at him. "What are you talking about, Sam? You still subscribing to the theory that humans are somehow directing the baleens?"

  "I'm not subscribing to anything except caution," he shot back. "We've nothing to lose by spending a little while longer in the water. We can wait a bit more. And watch."

  They did so, clustered tightly behind the bemmy, their heads just above water. The pair of foils slowed, settled into the nearby section of sea where the town of Vai'oire had floated in peace not long ago.

  Distant splashings reached the hidden watchers. Divers in gelsuits were dropping from both foils. Frantic activity marred the smooth lines of the two ships.

  Cora pushed back her mask, spoke directly to Mataroreva, as he had insisted they all do. Suit-unit transmissions, he had declared, were too easily detected.

  "See? They're looking for survivors." She moved as if to start around the mound of hexalate.

  He put out a hand, grabbed her. "Maybe." He stared thoughtfully across the thin ridge that broke the surface. "But if they're searching for survivors,. why haven't they broadcast their location?"

  "Maybe they're just investigating, after receiving orders from Mou'anui to do so," Rachael suggested. "Maybe they know from previous experience that there are no survivors."

  "Investigating for what?" Mataroreva went silent.

  They had their answer soon enough. Divers began returning to their ships. Blocks and winches, magnetic and straight, were dropped over the sides of each vessel. Soon the men were hoisting individual crates and bits of selected debris on deck. The flotsam was then neatly stacked and tied down. It had the air of a well-practiced operation.

  "Instrumentation." Mataroreva squinted across the sunlit surface. "Ah, and there's a couple of freshly sealed containers. What do they look like to you, Dawn?"

  "Those are vacuum cylinders." Her voice was low, almost trembling. "They would hold fragrance extracts and spices: town cargo."

  Mataroreva glanced over at Cora. "Do you think they're salvaging that stuff to put the proceeds of sale into an account benefiting surviving relatives of Vai 'oire 's dead? Or maybe to raise a memorial to them? Look how fast they're working! They're pushing themselves to finish before the first official observers arrive.

  "It makes sense now. Our first guess was right. We suspected either whales or men, but not both functioning in tandem. Somehow these people are controlling the cetaceans. I can't believe the whales are working for them of their own free will. They have nothing to gain.

  "First the whales, their activities somehow coordinated by these vultures, destroy a town. Then their human Svengalis rush in and rake up anything of value. If anyone happened to stumble in when a town was under attack and get safely away, the cetaceans would get the blame."

  "I can't imagine," Cora muttered, "how anyone could control and direct a large group of cetaceans like that."

  "Neither do I. But I will find out."

  "What do we do now?" Rachael asked.

  Mataroreva continued to study the busy operation. "There appear to be about twenty crew per ship. Many of them are diving. Maybe "we can take one of the ships. Even if we can't get away, possibly one of us might make it to the ship's transmitter. We could at least explain what's been happening. That would doubly alert all the other towns. Might even frighten these people off. We have one advantage anyway."

  "I'd trade all our advantages for a beamer," Merced murmured, his right hand tightening around an invisible one.

  "We know the reef," their guide continued. "We've been swimming over and through it for days. We'll head for the nearest foil at dusk. In the dark, we'll glow just like those pirates. They'll still be diving after the sun goes down, as anxious as they must be to finish up and clear out of here. If we can just get on deck before someone raises the alarm, we should at least have a good chance at their transmitter."

  "I'm for the transmitter." Dawn looked eagerly at the nearest bobbing vessel. "I know communications.

  I bet I can get off a signal faster than any of you. In the dark, if need be."

  "Sounds good. We'll take the boarding ladder the last diver uses. I'm up first."

  "No. Let me go."

  Mataroreva stared in surprise at the soft-voiced Merced.

  The little scientist continued with gentle relentless-ness. "They may not have any oversized specimens in their crews," he explained. "Your suit glow will be the same, but your mass will not. I'm more normally built and less likely to be noticed than any of you. Also less intimidating."

  Mataroreva considered, then nodded slowly. "You make good sense. Now, what about weapons? We can't chance jumping one of their divers. They'll probably work in pairs or trios, and one would be sure to sound a warning."

  "There are some blue echinoderms on the bottom," Cora suggested. "They have three to five large poisonous spines. We can break them off at the base. The spines are pretty tough. Even if their toxicity fades after separation, they'll make serviceable knives."

  Mataroreva smiled thinly at her. "I didn't think you'd notice such bloodthirsty details."

  "Part of my job. And I'm not bloodthirsty. I'm mad."

  An orange sun hung just above the water, fire balancing on a sheet of silvered clay, when they started toward the nearest foil. Mataroreva and Merced led the underwater procession. All eyes turned anxiously, seeking the telltale glow of another approaching diver. None came near.

  They could not know how many of the crew remained aboard, but the craft offered little room La which to hide. Each was built for speed, with only a single modest forward cabin. Most of the area was open rear deck and cargo hold.

  Two boarding ladders dipped like straws into the water on either side of the ship, one forward and one astern. The swimmers intended to mount the forward ladder, nearest the central cabin and the transmitter. That would also keep them away from the region of greatest activity near the stern, where salvage was being loaded.

  Each of them carried a twenty-centimeter-long blue spine, four-sided, taken from an unlucky bottom-dweller. The spines would not stand repeated use. Mataroreva felt that if each spine found a throat, it would more than have served its purpose.

  He articulated that desire at every opportunity, running his hand along the sides of his own weapon and making repeated stabbing gestures as they swam. Cora couldn't share his lust for killing, despite the ghastly crime that had been committed here. But she was quite prepared to wound.

  They reached the hull of the suprafoil without a challenge, hovered beneath its bow. Gestures served in place of words. Merced moved upward and grabbed the bottom rung of the fore port ladder. Still there was no challenge.

  As soon as he was clear of the water he removed his suit fins, but did not drop them. If he appeared on deck without them, he would attract immediate attention, whereas if he acted and looked like a normal diver, he might escape curiosity for a precious second or two longer. It was possible the divers on one boat knew those on
the other only casually. And it was dark.

  A minute passed while those remaining-in the water waited nervously. Then Merced reappeared, leaning over the side and gesturing frantically. Mataroreva started up the ladder. Cora was right behind him, followed by Dawn and Rachael.

  Then they were all standing on deck alongside the only cabin. Lights glowed from within. They were not interrupted by moving shapes.

  The only sign of habitation was a limp figure on the deck at their feet. Its head was twisted around at an unnatural angle and blood trickled lazily from the gaping mouth. Merced's spine-knife was unstained. Mataroreva glanced curiously from the corpse to Merced.

  "I broke his neck. The opportunity presented itself," the smaller man whispered. Then he turned and moved on, crouching like a spider.

  Cora passed the body and wondered at the unexpectedly lethal talents of the wiry oceanographer. His athletic ability had been amply demonstrated. Mataroreva, who knew more about such things, had reached the conclusion that Merced was somewhat more than merely athletic. But there was no time to discuss such mysteries now. The real problem at hand was far more prosaic in nature.

  From the side of the cabin they had an excellent view of the rear deck. Two men were studying a dark gap into which an automatic crane was lowering a basket filled with cylinders of varying size. There was nothing resembling crew quarters. A couple of luminescent panels completely lit the interior of the cabin. That was good. It made it difficult for anyone inside to see into the blackness beyond.

  Mataroreva bent around a corner and peered briefly into the chamber. He turned and held up a single finger. Gestures and whispers followed. They would first attempt to silence the single inhabitant of the cabin. Then they would rush the pair monitoring the loading. If the one inside the cabin managed to cry out, Merced would lead an immediate attack on the two loaders. It was hoped that the other ship was anchored too far away to notice any screams.

  They did not have as much success as Merced in sneaking up on their quarry. One of the men operating the crane glanced back and stared straight at them. For a long moment he simply stood there, a puzzled expression on his face. His companion might have proved more voluble if given time. Instead, he had only seconds in which to gaze at them in shock.