Cachalot

by Alan Dean Foster

"It could have been mistiming on the part of the attackers."

  "It could have been." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I think well find, when we check the records, that all produce, regardless of quantity, disappeared," and he went below.

  He was gone quite a while. Cora did not move, continued to watch the subsurface denizens, to envy them their freedom from thought. Much better to be able to rely only on instinct, she mused.

  "Well?"

  "Everything crated for shipment," he told her. "No sign of it. And that's not all. Merced and I made a detailed study of the recovered-articles lists. Absent from them is just enough in the way of water-resistant valuables—power packs, generator units, converters, and personal effects like jewelry—to give credibility to our theory.

  "Many personal items were recovered—sunk to the bottom or found inside pieces of town. But enough is missing to fit with our analysis. Our pirates were careful to limit their greed. The absence of all such items would have pointed to human agents long ago. But just a few—now, they wouldn't be missed." One massive fist punched gently into its opposite palm. "I'd like to meet these folks." His expression now was anything but boyish. "Yes, I'd like to meet them."

  "Sam, how can you predict where the next attack will take place since they don't rely on information regarding which town is ready to ship?"

  "Time for some inspired guesswork, I suppose. We do know that every attack has taken place under cover of bad weather. All towns have been alerted to that fact. I've requested meteorological reports for this quadrant of sea for the next week. All four towns were within two thousand kilometers of each other. Now we have something else to alert the towns to."

  "Two thousand… that doesn't exactly pin them down."

  "There are only a dozen or so towns within that region now, and another dozen bordering it. Of the two dozen, the ones that will have to be extra careful are those that will be subject to bad weather. That reduces potential trouble spots somewhat," he insisted.

  "We still have no idea what kind of weaponry they're using."

  He looked helpless. "No, we don't." There was a yell from below. He and Merced exchanged words.

  The report he had requested had been provided. For the next five days only three towns were likely to be subject to storm conditions.

  "What were the time intervals between the previous attacks?" she asked.

  "That's just it. There weren't any. Two of the towns were destroyed within days of one another, and then it was weeks before the third attack. There doesn't seem to be any predictability to it."

  "So all we know," she murmured, "is that three towns might possibly be attacked within the next week."

  "I'm afraid so. We'll travel to one of them. Vai'oire is closer to us than Mou'anui, and I want to talk to the town council in person about what we've learned. Certainly Wenkoseemansa and Latehoht ought to be available at one town for sentry duty."

  "Why Vai'oire, other than its proximity?"

  "No reason. It's as likely a target as Hydros or Wasser. But there is another reason for our going to a town, and it's because of you, not me."

  "What's that?"

  "After weeks on this boat I suspect you'd all enjoy sleeping on something that doesn't rock quite so much."

  "Amen!" Rachael was coming up from below, with Merced behind.

  "Speaking for myself, I could certainly do with a change," Merced admitted.

  But Cora added nothing, instead turned silently to gaze back down at the crystal reef. The rocking motion never troubled her. She was as at home in the arms of Mother Ocean as ever she was on any stable land.

  Chapter X

  Vai'oire was not land, of course, but it certainly was stable. Cora could not see any motion when the Caribe slid into one of the several docks that extended into the ocean.

  It was a quiet morning. Only a freshening breeze hinted at any possibility of the predicted storm. A few sooty clouds scudded past overhead, uncertain as yet whether to retain their independence or to join together to bleed life.

  As the craft entered the dock it passed above the outskirts of the reef Vai'oire was exploiting. Sonarizers kept the suprafoil well apprised of any dangerously high hexalate formations.

  "A coincidence," Sam assured her as they prepared to link to the dock. "True, Rorqual was anchored off a reef when it was hit. So was Warmouth. But the other two were over open ocean, moving or following schools. Sure, if they'd all been attacked when sitting off a reef, we could predict exactly which town would be struck next. Unfortunately, that's another common denominator that doesn't exist, except as wishful thinking."

  The Caribe gently touched the starboard dock. A click sounded from bow and then stern as the suprafoil locked into the dock. Then the boarding ramp slipped into place. They descended, standing rubber-legged on a surface that did not sway beneath them.

  They were met by four locals. Three men and a woman, all middle-aged or older. One of the men, a short, portly Polynesian type, stepped forward to shake hands with each of them in turn. He was bald on top, had a fringe of white hair that ran around his head like a three-quarter halo. All his features were round and soft, like those of a cartoon figure.

  "Ja-wen Pua'ahorofenua," he announced. Cora decided that "Ja" would do. "I'm the current mayor of Vai'oire. We received a General Alert report from Mou'anui yesterday. Said that you folks had determined that human pirates—I had to look the term up —or other Commonwealth intelligences were responsible" for the crisis we've been living with these past few months. That's hard for us to accept."

  "Hard but not impossible, Ja-wen," the woman behind him said. Cora had noticed her first. She was so enormous that beside her Sam looked skinny. Yet as with Sam, the immense volume of flesh looked firm, and the rolls were minimal. "But then all of these attacks are hard to accept."

  "I know that, H'ua," the mayor said. "I just can't imagine how any kind of human assault could get through screens and prewarn systems, not without leaving at least a hint of how it had happened."

  "Four towns lost and nobody knows anything," one of the other men grumbled sourly. He wore an object around his neck which looked like a single tooth. It was at least sixteen centimeters across at the base, and the point hung halfway to the man's navel. Cora wondered what creature it might have been wrenched from and thought of what might still lie unobserved in Cachalot's deeps.

  Beads and shells formed the rest of the necklace, alternating with light-emitting units. She wondered if it was some kind of personal ornament or perhaps a local badge of office.

  "At this point," the last speaker concluded, "I'd believe anything."

  'That's the truth," the fourth member of the greeting party said. "My five-year enlistment is up in a couple of months. We're thinking of taking our savings, Suzette and I, packing up the kids, and maybe moving to New Riviera or even someplace like Horseye, where the dangers are known."

  The mayor turned incredulously to his companion. "You, Yermenov? You're lived on Cachalot all your life."

  "I know, and I want to live the rest of it. I'd rather risk thirty years somewhere else than end up a missing statistic here."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry about Vai'oire." Ja-wen turned confidently back to his visitors. "You can understand our concern. We're all worried, but now that we have some idea what to look out for, I'm sure we can handle it. Vai'oire's a big, well-financed town. Our defensive equipment is the latest available to private buyers. If you people are certain of your—"

  "We're as certain as we can be at this point," Cora told him, "that people are responsible and that there's not some unknown entity lurking about that's swallowing towns whole."

  "We knew that from the start, Ja-wen." The huge woman spoke in a voice that bordered on the girlish. "Too many pieces left floating about."

  "Yes." Ja-wen leaned close to Cora, spoke conspiratorially. "I'm sure you've heard that part of our trouble is preventing this information from starti
ng rumors we can't control. If something isn't done soon, some shuttle pilot's going to hear about our problem and word will get off-planet. Then it'll get on a liner going out-system, and before you know it, well—look at Yermenov. A lifelong resident. If people like him start leaving, before long this world will be less than a colony. We've already noticed unusual trouble in hiring new specialists." He looked away, upset and embarrassed.

  "What do you think the reaction of our young people is going to be? Especially our brightest, away at University? There's no institute of higher learning here. You think they'll want to come back to face obliteration?" He shook his head.

  "This has to be stopped, and soon." How like Hwoshien he sounds, Cora thought. "Too many of our friends have died already." And business is off, she thought coolly. Then he said something which made her regret her harsh appraisal.

  "I understand you've come from the last docking site of Rorqual Towne." She nodded. "The assistant mayor there was my cousin. We've all lost friends or relatives. For all its size, Mou'anui is a tightly knit community, even if our knitting is via satellite. We feel the loss of any of our fellow citizens personally. But entire towns!"

  "Whoever's responsible," Merced said confidently, "is a candidate for mindwipe."

  "Mindwipe," the mayor echoed, nodding slowly. "If any of us lays hands on the perpetrators of these outrages first…" He left the sentence unfinished, but elaboration was unnecessary. If the inhabitants got to the pirates first, there would not be enough of the outlaws left to reimprint with new personalities.

  "Well, they won't find us unprepared!" he said loudly. "We've nearly eleven hundred permanent residents here, and they all know what their day-status is. We don't rely just on our automatics. Since the trouble started, we've had people watching the monitors twenty-five hours a day. We go on about our business, but with an eye on each other's backsides." Cora wondered if the brave speechmaking was for their benefit or for the mayor's.

  "What's Mataroreva doing?" The portly executive was looking past them, toward the far end of the dock. "I haven't seen him since last Harvest Holiday."

  Cora turned with the others. Their guide was bent over, conversing with the water. "We've a pair of orcas with us. He's probably chatting with them." She noticed he was wearing his translator.

  "Drifters or associates?" one of the other men inquired.

  "I don't know the precise meaning of those terms," Merced said, "but if you mean do they work with Sam and humans on any kind of regular basis, I'm fairly certain that they do, judging from what we've observed thus far."

  "Very nice," the enormous lady, H'ua, chirped. "They're the best early-warning system you can have. I've always been sorry we've never been able to induce one or two to associate with Vai'oire."

  Mataroreva rejoined them, confirmed that he had been talking with their black and white companions. "I was setting them a patrol," he explained. "They'll circle the town about a kilometer out. How shallow is the reef you're working?"

  "Breaks the surface in some places," Yermenov said. "I'm fisheries supervisor for the town, by the way. We're backed up to one end of the reef. It spreads out in a fan shape, more or less, from where we're sitting now. It's hundreds of meters across on the other side of town, expanding to kilometers at its greatest diameter."

  "What are you thinking of?" Cora asked the pensive Polynesian.

  "Submersibles. They would be the most effective means of attack. If they're emission-silent or screened, or both, no satellite would detect them. And if they're small enough and fast enough…" He shrugged. "They could be the explanation. The reef here will screen about a quarter of the ocean approach from any such underwater assault. I'm building an imaginary defensive ring around the town."

  "It doesn't matter," Mayor Pua'ahorofenua said testily. "We'll keep our systems operative three hundred and sixty degrees. Just in case."

  "That's just what I'd do if I were in your position." To Cora, the simple fishing and gathering village was fascinating. On several of the ocean worlds on which she had worked, floating resorts had been constructed on polymer rafts. Occasionally she had encountered an isolated floating research facility. Never anything of this complexity, she mused. Not a complete community, with homes and places of work and recreation, of local commerce and schooling. Right now the illusion was that people actually worked and walked on solid land. It was at its most effective near the center of town, away from the sea. The walkway under her feet did not sway at all, yet she knew only meters of extruded polymer separated her from the depths. The compensators held the walkway and the buildings surrounding it as steady and secure as a padre's thoughts. If anything, it was more than naturally stable. The surface she trod was smooth and seamless, not shifting like the glass sands of Mou'anui Atoll.

  Some of the buildings rose three stories from their raft foundations. Most roofs sported a fringe of small dish antennae, like split bivalves, to receive and broadcast via satellite.

  "Looks like weather coming in," Mataroreva observed as they turned toward a long structure which the large woman had identified as her home.

  H'ua glanced up at the darkening sky. "We're due for a day or two of rain. Nothing serious, according to the forecast. Mild winds and light chop. Besides, the rain is good for us."

  Merced frowned. "Why? I thought the floating towns produced all the fresh water they required through desalinization."

  "E mau roa—that's very true," H'ua replied. "For drinking and cooking and most other functions, the desalinated sea is quite sufficient." She winked at Cora and fluffed the mane of long black hair that framed her moon face. "But some of us traditionalists believe that for washing one's hair, rainwater is a necessity. Ram is also good for the soul."

  They passed the house, turned up another street, and eventually reached a two-story, molded rooming complex. They entered a small reception area.

  "You are our guests. It's not often Vai'oire has a chance to display its hospitality to off-world visitors." H'ua looked at Rachael, nodded toward the object the girl held under one arm. "I understand you can actually play that witch's lyre?"

  Rachael looked surprised. "How could you know? Many people carry them and can only practice with them."

  Mataroreva smiled hugely. "That was one of the less serious pieces of information I broadcast prior to our arrival."

  "You would honor us with a concert," H'ua added.

  Rachael looked embarrassed. "Now, wait, I'm not a professional, only an enthusiastic amateur and—"

  "Anyone who can make a neurophon do more than simply wail is more than a mere amateur." A huge hand patted Rachael on the back. "Anyway, you are a new and exotic quantity. Wear something skimpy. If the music and projections are weak, the men won't notice." She eyed the girl approvingly. "They may not notice anyhow."

  With a long, infectious, little-girl giggle, she turned to lumber from the reception station. "You all have a good time while you're here. Each room has its own autochef, communicator, and tridee. There are broadcasts from Mou'anui every day. If there's anything else you want, buzz me through your room com on the local network. I'm one-forty-six. My husband's name is Taarü Maltzan, by the way. You won't get him. He's out working the reef with the rest of the gathering teams."

  "Thank you," Cora barely remembered to say as the woman left them.

  The door to her assigned room was locked. That was to be expected. In an area as restricted and isolated as a floating town, privacy would be highly prized. The door opened at the sound of her voice and the application of her thumb to the recess in its frame.

  What was inside was totally unexpected, however, and she nearly let out a yell. Her surprise was due to the apparent absence of floor. Then she saw the reflections in the corners. Gingerly she stepped out onto the transparency.

  Her uncertainty rapidly gave way to delight. The floor of the surprisingly spacious room was completely transparent. Six meters below she could see wonderfully bizarre, multihued creatures swimming back and for
th, lit by lights someone had thoughtfully turned on for her prior to her arrival. Meters farther lay a sandy bottom spotted with hexalate formations.

  On the clear floor sat a lounge and bed woven from some dried blue sea plant, an exquisite chunk of polish hexalate containing the tridee unit, and scattered mats of spiral design and exquisite workmanship.

  Cora knelt and ran her hands over the smooth floor. The glassalloy was perhaps half a meter thick. The room-wide shaft that continued deeper on all sides was part of the polymer raft on which Vai'oire rested. It was the lack of motion which had deceived her into thinking she was stepping out into nothingness.

  Further investigation revealed a hatch in the far corner. It was part of the same transparent material.

  Steps cut into the white wall of the raft structure led down to a bench resting just above the water. There a guest could sit beneath the floor of her room and bathe in complete privacy in the warm sea.

  The guest building was located on the edge of the town, so the water beneath would be relatively warm. Rising, Cora found the one-way window which looked out over the ocean and the small docks holding pleasure craft. Outside, people walked past clad in the familiar pareus, occasionally in a diving gelsuit. Small children often went naked.

  Such casual imagination expended on behalf of the rare guest hinted at an industry only marginally exploited on Cachalot: tourism. She envisioned floating hotels anchored above or near the seamount reefs and atolls—and chided herself. Tourism and science rarely mixed. No doubt the resident cetaceans would vigorously oppose any such form of permanent floating development. She should be devoting all her thoughts to the serious mission at hand.

  Though perhaps not too serious any more. Her thoughts were not on enigmatic sources of death and destruction, but on a cave filled with living stars. She glanced around the empty room again and for the first time in a long while felt the key word in the description to be "empty." Maybe Sam would enjoy sharing a dive. There was a new reef to explore.

  She checked the other rooms assigned their party. Merced was luxuriating in the shaft of his. Rachael, he told her, should be on her way back to the boat, in whose lower cabin she would practice frantically for the demanded concert. As to the whereabouts of Mataroreva, he had no idea.