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.

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"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 ship." 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 shivering. The reac- tion was stimulated as much by the melody as by the accompanying neuronics.

"Can't you play something happier?"

Rachael leaned over to look down at her mother. "I play as the mood takes me. I know that's not very sci- entific." Her mouth twisted. "But it's aesthetic."

"I don't want to argue about it, Rachael." Cora turned back to her study of the burnt bit of material.

"Then why did you bring it up?" Rachael contin-

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122 CACHALOT.

ued to play and Cora continued to shiver, saying nothing.

Merced was sitting beneath Rachael, Just under the overhang of the upper deck. He was laboriously ex- amining a huge pile of water-damaged tape fragments.

Cora wondered what he hoped to find in that ma.s.sive, messy mound of communications numbers, personal histories, pay charts, and medical records. He con- fessed quite frankly that he wasn't sure, but at least the information was varied, and more relaxing than going cross-eyed picking through chunks of torn metal and plastic. She could sympathize. He was obviously frustrated, too.

Mataroreva came up from below. Since he wasn't directly involved in the research, he should have been more bored than any of them, what with nothing to do beyond seeing to the maintenance of the Caribe. But he was relaxed, even appeared to be enjoying himself.

While they studied, he dove and recovered additional artifacts, concentrating on the edge of the reef where he had forbidden them to travel. There were large pelagic predators out there, where reef gave way to open sea, and he preferred not to have his charges tempt them. And he only hunted there himself when accompanied by the two orcas.

Now he looked over Cora's Shoulder, noting her discomfort. "I've got to admit her current choice of dendritones doesn't lighten my day, either. How about a dive? Not for work this time, for a change. Just to relax."

"I can't," she told him. "Just because we're having a hard time doesn't mean we aren't making any pro- gress."

"Really? You're making progress, then?"

"Well... take this piece of burnt fabric here."

Mataroreva looked at it. "So?"

"Don't you see that?" She paused, eyed it herself, then looked over at the knee-high ridge of similar

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fragments. She saw no answers there, only additional frustration.

Then she picked up the bit of water-soiled material, wadded it into a ball, and threw it angrily over the side of the ship. "You can take it and do what you want with it! To h.e.l.l with it-let's go!"

"That's the spirit!" He moved to don his gelsuit.

No, it isn't, she thought exhaustedly. She didn't have much spirit left.

The strains of the sobbing Trans-Carlson tune fol- lowed her over the side, and the neuronic projections tickled her for several meters more. Then they were out of the instrument's preset range. Once more she was cruising among the delicate hexalate formations.

Sam continued to point out unusual examples of Cachalot life as they encountered them. There hadn't been much time for such sightseeing in days past. He spotted one advanced variety of pseudoworm, far more spectacular than any of the Terran nudibranchs that were its closest visual relative, fluttering in and out among the reef formations. It was about half a meter in length and swam with an incredible supple- ness. Hundreds of long, thin streamers trailed from its flanks. The feathery filaments were a rich azure blue, spotted with yellow and pink.

"Gorgeous," Cora muttered, overwhelmed as she had so often been already by the endless beauty of this world.

"That's not all. Watch." Sam kicked on ahead, ran a finger down the creature's slowly rippling ventral side. A thin, cloudy pink fluid filled the water around it.

She winced instinctively. "Protective mechanism?"