Part 11 (1/2)

”Don't you think that under the present circ.u.m- stances we might make an exception?”

Sam considered the matter, spoke cautiously. ”If it's vital to your research, well, we might try locating a herd or two. But only if it's absolutely necessary.”

”Whom do I have to clear it with?”

”With the cetaceans, of course. No arguing per- mitted, by the way.” He spoke sternly. ”H we do hap- pen to run into a pod and they don't want to stop and chat, there must be no disappointed tantrums. If we pester them beyond a certain point, they're fully within their rights to smash the boat-and its inhabitants.”

They were approaching the southern tip of the atoll.

Curving beaches reached out and around to embrace then” arrival. The buildings here were larger than any they had seen up close, larger even than the central

50 CACHALOT.

Administration Building back by the shuttle dock.

Some were circular, others ma.s.sive and foursquare to the sand. All were coated with photovoltaic panel- ing. Much plastic and metal tubing ran between the buildings. Bulky structures running up each end of the atoll looked like warehouses. And far more ac- tivity was visible than they had encountered at Ad- ministration. The Commonwealth is present on Cacha- lot because of this, Cora told herself, and not the other way around.

”South Terminus,” Mataroreva announced. ”The clearing area for the produce of Cachalot's ocean.”

”What about the processing?” Rachael inquired.

”The basics are performed on the floating towns themselves-sizing and grading corbyianver, for ex- ample. Concentrating and precrating are mostly done right here. The final refining takes place,” and he waved at the sky, ”out there. There are a number of fairly large orbital factories set in synchronous...o...b..ts above us.”

Cora nodded. ”We saw one on our way down, I think.”

”That's where the final work takes place.” He angled toward the beach. ”All of the more valuable products are completed up there: pharmaceuticals, perfumes and other cosmetics, foodstuffs, minerals. It's cheaper than trying to build a floating factory down here. Also, most of the raw materials take acceleration better than the finished products would.”

”I wouldn't think an orbital factory would be cheaper,” Cora protested.

”Consider that everything you see on Mou'anui was built with imported materials. Undersea mining is prohibitively expensive, not to mention refining.

Cachalot's population doesn't call for an extensive manufacturing base. It's cheaper to import.”

He slowed, edged the craft up against one of several empty piers. Switches were flipped and the engine

51.

died. Another switch locked the craft to the pier. They followed their guide into a complex of buildings that were as modem as any Cora had seen. Ferrocrete covered the sand. It sounded harsh and alien against her sandals.

Around them strolled technicians whose accents she traced to many worlds. The atmosphere was radically different from the casual aura that enveloped the Administration Center. ”Hustle” was the word here, commerce the constant reaction. This realization killed some of the charm Cora had come to a.s.sociate with the new world. She had to remind herself that the human presence on Cachalot existed because of cold economic figures.

Mataroreva left them to chat with a lanky lady who looked rather like one of the imported coconut palms.

She held an electronic notepad as she inspected man- high rows of opaque plastic containers.

”He's inside,” Cora heard her say, ”near the con- veyors. He's checking potential extract yield himself.

Seych.e.l.les Town brought in a large batch of formicary foam.”

”Thanks, Kina.” As she turned to resume her count- ing, he gave her a fond pat on the derriere. Cora took note of this, along with the ambient temperature and the time of day.

As they penetrated farther into the complex, Mat- aroreva pointed out the functions of various structures.

Eventually they entered a long, cavernous edifice that seemed to stretch onward forever. The clank and hum of machinery grinding out credits for distant, uncaring proprietors further deepened Cora's mel- ancholy. The last vestiges of paradise were being drowned around her. An ancient bit of music by Mos- solov echoed in her head.

Clearly Cora had arrived on Cachalot with a brace of misconceptions, which she was rapidly shedding.

No wonder the cetacean settlers wanted nothing to