Part 23 (2/2)

”Mankind has changed.” She moved tentatively to the bent rail, looked down. ”Just as radically as have the Cetacea.”

”Words!” Lumpjaw rumbled, though with seemingly less conviction. ”And Worse, They Are Words of Man- kind, Who Is Not To Be Believed.”

”What about Wenkoseemansa and Latehoht?”

Cora argued. ”And their cousins the porpoises? They trust.”

”The Little Ones Who-Leap-All-The-Time Are But Children, Locked Into A Degraded, Permanent In- fancy Of Their Own Choosing. As For The Mottled Brave Who Are Also Our Cousins; They Have For Reasons Of Their Own Chosen Friendliness And As- sociation With Thy Kind. We Do Not.”

”Unhappy to you,” a new voice said, ”Ponderous Swimmer.” Latehoht had appeared nearby.

”Perhaps So.” Lumpjaw sounded philosophical, not angry with the orca. ”We Cannot Judge Eventuality, Only The Present. Perhaps Thy Course May Be The True One, Little Mottled Cousin. But We Of The Catodonia Have Not Yet Forgotten Nor Forgiven. We Only Hope For Thy Sake That Thy Trust Is Never Betrayed.”

”It won't be,” Sam insisted.

”May It Be So.” The head turned slightly, bringing huge ivory teeth within Cora's reach. She did not flinch. ”There Are Men, And There Are Men. They May Differ As Much As The Colors Of The Fish Who School In The Millions, And Their Feelings And Be- liefs And Desires May Be Equally Diverse. That Be The Difference Between Us. We Strive For A Singu- larity Of Thought, A Unity. Not Diversity.”

102.

”Mankind has its own form of unity,” Cora pointed

out.

”Aye, But Tis Not A Unity of Soul.” The whale

waxed poetic: ”Thy Unity Springs From A Drive For Survival. We Of The Catodonia Have No Such Need And Find Our Strength In Individual Independence

Joined To A Uriity Of Thought.

”In That Unity There Is As Yet,” he added almost

as an afterthought, ”No Room For Trusting Mankind.

I Have Seen Nothing Of Man As Yet To Convince Me Otherwise And I Have Made The Great Migra- tion Yea, Twenty Times.”

”Five years of adolescence,” Sam murmured, ”give

or take a little, and four years per migration. That would make him eight-five years old, or more.”

”How can you be so sure of man if you remain aloof

from him?” Cora wanted to know,

”I Would Debate Philosophy With Thee Longer,

Little Female,” Lumpjaw said, ”But There Are Those In The Pod Who Grow Anxious. We Have Distances To Travel And Thoughts To Think. Thou Hast Inter- rupted Both.”

”Are you sure,” Merced interrupted, speaking for

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