Part 43 (1/2)

strangers. The subjects of their attention had been herded together just in front of the open hold.

Mataroreva and a groggy Merced gave some thought to their making a concerted charge for the railing, figuring that if they all went in different direc- tions, the woman couldn't hit more than two of them before the others were well on their way to the secret

places of the reef.

It was Merced who finally vetoed the idea. Even if three of them made it successfully over the side, these people doubtless possessed at least the standard vari- eties of detection equipment. They were obviously adept at ferreting out sunken valuables. It would not be difficult for them to find a few divers.

A better idea might be to rush the woman, since no one else had yet thought to bring up additional weap- ons. Unfortunately, this idea lost its appeal when five more divers appeared, all of them armed with identi- cal gas-dart weapons save for one. The latter carried a squat device that projected explosive sh.e.l.ls for deal- ing with particularly stubborn forms of sea life.

So the captives waited and pondered the possible profile of the person the woman had called Ha- zaribagh, who would decide their fate. At least they weren't to be murdered out of hand. And why should they be? Hadn't the woman insisted she and her co- horts had killed no one?

It seemed to Cora that the more they learned about the destroyed towns of Cachalot, the less they knew.

It was like breaking an egg. Instead of finding a yolk inside, they found two more eggs. And four inside the two. And so on and so on, on to utter frustration.

A guard kept watch on them all night. In the morn- ing they were given a surprisingly pleasant meal. Ra- chael asked for permission to take possession of her

neurophon. t The woman withdrew it from the watertight con- J tainer but paused before handing it over. As Rachael

watched anxiously, the woman and another of their guards removed a back panel. The two of them con- sulted before the first dislodged a pair of tiny solid- state modules. Then the instrument was handed to its owner.

”Now you can play all the music you want,” the stocky blonde told Rachael pleasantly, ”but without neuronics. In the proper hands, that otherwise delight- ful device could be very disconcerting if someone knew how to maltune the projections.”

”I wasn't thinking of that,” Rachael protested indig- nantly.

”Maybe not. But I am.”

The midday meal pa.s.sed with the divers continuing their salvage operation. Soon after, another vessel ap- peared on the horizon. It was much larger than either of the suprafoils. It was also of old-fas.h.i.+oned but proven design. There were no foils. Beneath the dou- ble hull of the ma.s.sive catamaran, a foil could fit neatly alongside hull doors and portals. There it could unload even in rough weather, s.h.i.+elded by the bulk of the mother s.h.i.+p.

The sleek ma.s.s anch.o.r.ed nearby and their foil pulled in underneath. Cora noted the blotches on the twin hulls and on the huge deck shading them. The craft was well used.

An elevator descended to the deck of the foil. They boarded and were carried up to the larger vessel's main deck. A walkway took them to a second deck near the stern. In addition to communications equip- ment and a recorder, they found chairs, tables, a por- table autochef, and several very large men holding large guns.

There was also a small, dusky character clad in a khaki-colored s.h.i.+rt and vest. Several necklaces framed his thin brown chest and the white and black hair sprouting there. White teeth alternated with faceted red and yellow gems in the necklace. Straight black

184.

CACHALOT.

CACHALOT.

185.

hair was combed directly back and tied in a knot with red and yellow cord. Extremely bushy white sideburns flanked the narrow, tiny face.

A thin black and white mustache curled upward to- ward ink-black eyes, was dampened slightly when the man took a drink from the tall metal gla.s.s on the table in front of him. He looked for all the world like an elderly bureaucrat on vacation. But his face, as he turned to inspect them, was troubled.

”Hazaribagh. Dewas Hazaribagh,” Mataroreva mur- mured.

”Yes. Mataroreva, isn't it?” The man's voice was high, and as sharp as a paper cut.

Cora's gaze traveled from stranger to companion.