Part 17 (1/2)

CACHALOT.

Cachalot, she felt the cold kiss of fear. It occurred to her that whatever had obliterated four entire towns could probably dispose of a single boat and its occu- pants as easily as she could stifle a sneeze. She forced the worry aside. There was no point in wasting her time thinking about such a possibility. Death was merely a physiochronological abstraction she would have to deal with sooner or later.

Even at the Caribe's speed, it was many minutes before they had crossed the gigantic lagoon of Mou'anui and the first of the small outlying motus, or islands, came into view. No tall transplanted palms waved acknowledgment of their presence. They were almost on top of the low, sandy piles when she finally

noticed them.

Mataroreva had slowed their pace. While the pas- sage through the reef was reasonably wide, he took his time guiding the Caribe through. A thick acc.u.mulation of transparent hexalate could not harm the duralloy hull but might do damage to the more delicate, flexible

foils.

Only a slightly increased swell met the craft as it slipped free of the lagoon. No thunderous breakers to ride out here, except during a storm.

They were well clear of the exterior motus, and Mataroreva still held their speed down as he turned farther to the west. Cora watched interestedly as they approached a small atoll, a miniature version of Mou'anui complete with two gla.s.sy islets whose crowns barely broke the surface. Sam was leaning out of the bridge enclosure, hunting for something even the slight distortion caused by the transparent gla.s.salloy

chamber might hide.

Cora looked in the same direction, but strain as she did, she could not find a boat, a raft, or anyone on the islets. If they were supposed to meet their additional a.s.sistants here, she couldn't . . . What she did finally espy, and what broke her train of thought, were two

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huge dorsal fins moving straight for the Caribe. They were black with white markings. Orcas-killer whales!

”Rachael-Rachael!”

Her daughter joined her, her expression anxious.

”Mother, what's.? . ..”

Cora was pointing excitedly over the side. Rachael and then Merced noticed the approaching fins of a pair of Cachalot's true colonists.

Cora called up to the bridge. ”Sam!” He glanced down at her. ”Can't you pull over for a better look?”

”Not necessary,” he shouted down to her. ”You'll meet them in a moment. They're the two other experts I told you about.”

He pressed several switches inside the transparent bridge, climbed down to join the others. In one hand he held several ear-and-mouthpiece sets. The other held a thick black box-the heart of the s.h.i.+p, with which he could control most of the Caribe's move- ments and actions.

”Here,” he said, handing the headsets around.

”These are a.n.a.logs of the speaker-receiver units in your gelsuits. If you want to listen in or join the con- versation, you'll need one of these.” He was wear- ing one already.

Like two racing s.p.a.cecraft in a blue-green void, the orcas drew alongside the bobbing suprafoil. Cora studied the black and white coloring through the clear water. The sandy bottom was still only some fourteen meters below them, and the orcas hung within that medium, floating as if suspended in air.

Whistles and squeaks came from Sam, and she hur- riedly adjusted her own headset. His voice was dis- torted by the electronic diaphragm, but the words were now understandable.

”These are our lookouts and helpfriends,” he was saying. ”I've known them both for a long time. The big male is Wenkoseemansa. In orca that translates roughly as Double-White-Death-Scar-Over-Right-Eye.

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You can see it when he rolls to port. Got it when a calf in a fight with a sunmori fish. His mate is Late-