Part 28 (1/2)

He shrugged. ”Who knows? Maybe someone had a personal tridee recorder going at the moment of at- tack, though, as you say, it's likely the initial search teams would already have checked for such items. But it would be good for us to make our own search of the reef.”

Mataroreva started to protest, intending to cite the size of the reef and the thoroughness of the previous inspectors, but decided not to. Cora and the other two were not as familiar with Cachalot growths and for- mations as were the residents. Therefore they might search where a local scientist would disdain to.

”Anything that looks helpful, we take aboard for detailed a.n.a.lysis,” Merced continued, looking at Mataroreva.

119.

”Sounds like a reasonable suggestion. I know that you're all experienced in underwater work, so I'll say this only one last time and never mention it again.

Watch yourselves. As soon as we think we've identi- fied every danger, some innocent-looking new crea- ture appears with a unique form of protection. We've already catalogued twelve entirely new indigenous types of toxin. I don't want any of you discovering the thirteenth.

”Everyone should report in to the Caribe's receiver”

-he checked his chronometer-”at least on the hour. Give your approximate position in relation to the sun and the s.h.i.+p.” He studied them each in turn, said finally, ”That's all I have to say.”

”Everyone pick a compa.s.s point,” Cora said, anx- ious to begin, ”and let's start hunting.”

They learned nothing from the many fragments of town cleaned that day from the reef and sand. Subse- quent days of searching added more material but no revelations.

Among the material recovered were many personal effects: bits of clothing, water-sealed foodstuffs, shreds of expensive pylon netting, electronic instrumentation, and whole gelsuits. One morning Rachael excitedly di- rected them to a half-buried case that contained two dozen tridee tapes. They were perfectly preserved in a watertight inner container and of no value whatso- ever. All were entertainment tapes.

It was very frustrating to Cora. The frustration built as night ran into morning. It was pleasant enough work, swimming through the exquisite reef, idly ex- amining the exotic and occasionally bizarre native life of Cachalot. Only an isolated tropical rainstorm ar- rived from time to time to break the routine.

But they were finding nothing. The growing moun- tain of debris still held its secrets. They could not even tell whether the a.s.sault had been made by an animal or a human agency.

120 CACHALOT.

Merced believed that this very lack of clear evi- dence pointed to the work of belligerent humans. The absence of clues suggested to him a careful, methodi- cal attempt to destroy or eliminate any such evidence.

He could not attribute this type of attempt to blind animal rage.

Cora still kept an open mind. Barring the recovery of some deus ex machina such as the hypothesized tridee tape of the town's moment of destruction, she would settle for a hint that Merced was right or, con- versely, that some local life was responsible. She rather hoped the little scientist was correct. The thought that some unknown and immensely powerful whatsis might be lurking out in the depths bothered her more than the prospect of piratical humans.

While they found something every day, no plethora of debris lay strewn across the reef. For one thing, the town had been anch.o.r.ed off the edge of the reef in- stead of directly above it. Much of the town had sunk to depths beyond their diving capabilities. They could have requisitioned a deep-diving submersible to search the three-thousand-meter level, where the sea floor evened off, but she and Merced agreed they were as likely to find something near the surface as in the abyss. More so, in fact, since in the depths most everything would have been distorted by pressure.

But as the days pa.s.sed in continued ignorance, she began to wonder if they ever would find anything.

What made it worse was the certain knowledge that whatever had destroyed the four towns remained at large out there, cloaked in ocean and mystery, watch- ing, waiting.

IX.

C

'ora was sitting on the rear deck of the Caribe, trying to decide if a shred of fabric had been torn by a weapon or by teeth. It looked like part of a pareu.

A ripple ran down her back. Her hair tingled. Look- ing around, she lifted her eyes to the roof of the main cabin. Rachael sat on the edge, her legs crossed. Her right hand manipulated the double set of strings of the neurophon while her left fingered the contact controls of the axonic projector.

A warm feeling of well-being crept over Cora, the result of the perfect combination of lilting synthesized song and proper stimulation of her nerves by Rachael's playing. She felt as if she were being caressed by a pair of giant velvet gloves.

Abruptly the melodic ma.s.sage changed from sooth- ing to plaintive, then sank into melancholic. Despite the warm air, she found herself s.h.i.+vering. The reac- tion was stimulated as much by the melody as by the accompanying neuronics.

”Can't you play something happier?”