Part 15 (1/2)

They trod cold fires. Buildings and trees became mere cutouts from a child's games, toy silhouettes against the night. Merced and Rachael had fallen well behind.

”How did you happen to get into peaceforcer work?” Cora asked Sam curiously. ”You don't strike me as the type.”

”Meaning I fit the mold physically but not men- tally?” He grinned at her discomfort.

”I didn't mean ...”

”Forget it. I'm used to it. I just drifted into it, I guess. Why do people become what they become?

Life twists and turns on picayune events.”

”Well, I always wanted to be a marine biologist.”

”And I always wanted to have it easy and be happy,” he countered. ”Not very elevated career goals, but satisfying ones. I was born and raised here on Cachalot. Didn't have the apt.i.tude for science, and fis.h.i.+ng, gathering, and mining were too much work. That left some kind of administrative post.

”I wasn't much good with tapework, so when the

68 CACHALOT CACHALOT 69.

request was made for local peaceforcers, I joined up.

Hwos.h.i.+en believes strongly in compromise. Well, if I have any talent, it seems to be the ability to get others to do just that. Which is another way of saying I'm very good at stopping fights before they get started.

”I guess I've reached my present position because I did my job, didn't offend anyone or make too many mistakes. I also happen to be good at what's necessary after compromise has failed.”

”I know,” Cora said. ”I could tell that from the way you reacted to that toglut by the pier.”

”Oh, a toglut is nothing.” He spoke in an off-handed way that indicated he wasn't boasting. ”As I explained, they're slow and generally inoffensive. Wait till we're out on the open ocean. Away from Mou'anui. Cacha- lot's predators have evolved in the most extensive oceanic environment in the Commonwealth. A mallost would have togluts for breakfast.”

”I can't wait,” she told him honestly.

They had almost reached the looming shadow of the administrative dormitory. A few lights were visible within the structure, moth-eyes in the night. Some- where the somnolent hum of storage batteries taking over from the now useless photovoltaics sounded a counterpoint to the steady slapping of small waves against the distant beach.

”Wait^ second,” Sam said.

Oh, oh ... Cora readied herself. What sort of line would he try? She doubted it would be very original.

Bless his gentle boyish soul, Sam didn't seem the type.

But it would be a line nonetheless. Years had enabled her to a.s.semble a formidable a.r.s.enal of disarming responses. Because she liked him, she would opt for one of the milder disclaimers.

Instead of reaching for her with words or hands he knelt. One hand held a palmful of sand, the other worked at his utility belt. ”Have a look.” A small light winked on, ultraviolet. He thumbed a switch on the

side of the generator. The beam broadened slightly.

He turned it on the sand he held.

It was as if he had dipped his hand into the treasure chest of some ancient mogul or pirate. Under the ultra- violet beam the hexalate grains fluoresced brilliantly in a hundred shades, sawdust shaved from a rainbow.

The glow did not have the blinding prismatic harsh- ness created by sunlight. Instead, the colors were soft and rich, gentle on the eyes.

The light winked out, but to her delight the colors remained. The phosph.o.r.escence faded slowly, reluc- tantly. As it did so, he turned his hand and let the ribbon of tiny suns dribble from his palm.

”Oh, how beautiful, Sam! I expected a fairyland world, but not in such variety.”