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ingly drank of both. So you wanted to make love to him.

Integrate critical query: do you want more than that? Don't know, don't know G.o.d I don't know. You went into this with your eyes open. Yes, eyes open and brain shut. Serves you right. You deserve what you get in this life.

Then stop acting like a sixteen-year-old! You're al- ways harping at Rachael for acting immature, and you're acting worse than she ever has. When you see him again, you go right on as if nothing has happened.

Yes . . . he's still in charge of the security end of this expedition. You treat him that way. Polite, friendly- and distant. If he so much as touches you ...

Again the fury rose like lava in the throat of a volcano, subsided as quickly. How interesting to spec- ulate, she told herself, on man's continuing familial relationship with the ape. Don't blame Sam for a species-wide lack of progression.

She rolled onto her back, studied the ceiling. Al- ways the male must prove himself. You cannot be mad at the leader of the baboon pack for acting like himself.

She could cope with that reality. She had done so for years. No reason to regress now. Sam had made his point. She did not bother to debate the thoughts behind his ludicrous little grin, back there on the floor.

How jejune!

Running back to her room, memory and confusion and hurt all mashed together in her mind, she had thought he had been taunting her, deliberately flaunt- ing the woman at her. The male peac.o.c.k flares his feathers, she mused.

But that was asking too much of him. He had never laid claim to eloquence or cunning, and now he had demonstrated his lack of both. You were the one, Cora reminded herself with satisfaction, who took the situation in hand and spoke, made the decision to

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move. That smile was nothing more than a truthful mirror of his inner vapidness. She had made a mis- take. Sam Mataroreva was not merely boyish in ap- pearance and manner, he was a boy in all things. She should simply treat him as such. Her expectations had been too, too high. How she had permitted herself to regard him as an admirable man she now could not imagine.

Enough. She would relax with some tapes the re- mainder of the afternoon, dine with the others as pleasantly as possible, and have a good night's rest.

There was still much of the town to be seen, for who knew wherein might lie the critical clue? Perhaps she might even seek out that girl and ask her to show them about Vai'oire. Yes, that was it, show her how a mature woman can act. Let the other be the nerv- ous one, awaiting the explosion that would never come.

For now a nap would be a good idea. She would have no trouble falling asleep. The autochef could dispense things other than food. At the last moment she changed her mind. Naturally induced tranquility was better than drugged.

She lay back down on the bed, rolled over, and darkened the window and floor. The anger had sub- sided, the anxiety vanished. But though the room was now as dark as night, she could not shut out the af- terimage burned into her retinas of two bodies en- twined on a floor.

Dinner proceeded with a forced amiability that fooled no one. Rachael knew something was wrong with her mother, but for once had the sense not to open her mouth. Mataroreva ate with an unusual single-mindedness, letting Rachael and Merced carry the conversation.

After dessert he brightened, however, at a thought.

"Listen, there's going to be a spectacle on the reef to-

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night. The townsfolk are used to it already, so we ought to have the entire reef to ourselves."

"What kind of spectacle?" Cora displayed more in- terest than she felt.

"Well," Mataroreva hurried on, believing that he had genuinely aroused her interest, "it involves a na- tive cephalopod. It doesn't look like a squid or s.e.xa- thorp. More like a ball with tentacles."

He withdrew a sketch film from his pareu pockets, then a stylus. The instrument was wielded with sur- prising delicacy by his thick digits. The creature he outlined was actually more ellipsoidal than spherical.

Four squat fins protruded from one end while a ring of six or seven tiny eyes...o...b..ted the other. Each eye had a long tentacle set just above it. A single round mouth rested in the center of the ocular ring.

"They range in color from a vitreous green to a light lavender," Sam told them animatedly. Rachael and Merced were listening with interest. "They school in the thousands over this reef."

"How big?" Merced asked.

"About the size of my fist." He made one by way of example. "Plus the tentacle length."

"The town hunts for them?" Cora was intrigued de- spite herself.

"No, not for them. There's a small fish, about the size of my little finger ..."

"You have expressive hands," she cut in. "Two ex- amples already."

He eyed her uncertainly for an instant, hunting for hidden meanings before continuing. "The fish live in millions of crevices in the reef. When they school, the cephalopods arrive to hunt them-and to mate. When they're mating they pulse like fireflies: the males, dif- ferent shades of blue; the females, of red. They're powerful bioluminescents. And they dance, a kind of figure-eight weave. Thousands and thousands weaving together, and pulsing every shade of red and blue."

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"Sounds like a subject for a new composition," Ra- chael admitted, thinking of the neurophon languishing back in her room. As she did so, her expression drooped. "But I promised to do that concert."

"You didn't promise a particular night," Merced re- minded her. "You can put off our hosts for a couple of days."

"All right, tomorrow would be as good as tonight, I suppose." She rose from the table. "Sure. I'll go tell them, and get into my suit." She suddenly glanced over at Cora, asked concernedly, "You coming along, Mother?"

What an odd tone to her voice, Cora thought. Surely I'm acting perfectly normal. "Of course I'm coming along. It sounds very exciting."

"Good." Mataroreva put away his sketch film, from which the drawing of the cephalopod was already fad- ing. "At the northeast end of town you'll find a long, isolated pier. It's tangent to the nearest portion of the reef shallows." He checked his chronometer. "Sun- down's in about an hour. We should meet at two in the morning."

"That long?" Rachael was looking out a window.

"It's dark already."

"Clouds," he replied, following her gaze. "It's not the darkness-the cephalopods have a particular time of night. We'll all simply have to remain awake for a while. The rain won't affect them, if it comes."

Excitement overcoming her sleepiness, Cora made her way through the dimly lit streets of the town. So late at night (early in the morning, she corrected her- self), the majority of the townsfolk were long since sound asleep.

She reached the edge of town, heard the water lap- ping at the polymer raft. Ahead lay the pier. At its far end she could make out several shadowy figures.

"We're all here," Rachael offered as Cora joined

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them. She was already poured into her gelsuit. Merced was adjusting his mask. In fact, they were more than all there. Now five figures were standing at the end of the pier.

"This is our guide." Sam pointed to another shape making final tunings of its own equipment. "There are enough ins and outs to nightdiving a strange reef to make it tricky. It would be hard to lose anyone, but this is safer."

"I know that. You think I'm a complete idiot?" Ra- chael looked sharply at her mother, and Cora could see the puzzlement on her daughter's face through faceplate and darkness.

"I'm sorry-I know you don't," she apologized.

"Naturally it would be sensible for us to have a guide."

"I'll do my best, Ms. Xamantina," a voice said. The fifth figure turned toward her. Cora stared. She trem- bled just a little, and the quivering pa.s.sed quickly. It was the girl Sam had been with.