Her daughter, of course, was overjoyed. To Cora's relief, however, she wouldn't chance playing the sen- sitive instrument, much as it would have relaxed her.

Not that the sealed, solid-state electronics would be damaged by a little water, but Rachael was unwilling to risk dropping the device from the uncertain perch of a bemmy top. It would not float. So she left it sealed in, together with the other two containers, and tied to the top of a silicate projection.

They spent the next few days examining the rest of the debris as it was dispersed by wind and wave.

Mataroreva made longer and longer swims out to sea, disdaining the comparative shelter of the reef. He claimed to be searching for weapons as well as for ad- ditional food supplies.

Cora knew otherwise. She stayed tuned to his broadcast frequency, listening to his plaintive calls. He was still seeking the pair of missing orcas. As the days pa.s.sed without any reply from the empty sea, he grew more and more morose. Less time was paid to his companions, to eating, to anything other than his muscle-wearying swims. Cora began to feel that his attraction for the two whales was obsessive.

Or was it simply that in spending so much time seeking them, he was ignoring her?

At least his obsession was inclusive. He ignored Dawn as well. And despite herself, Cora felt increas- ingly sympathetic toward the girl. She was too young to take so much death in stride.

They continued hunting for a body or two. A

168 .

drowned human would eventually rise to the surface through the production of gas via decomposition. But they found not an arm or a leg or anything to indicate that hundreds of human beings had once occupied this section of sea. To Cora, their absence posed as great a mystery as the still inexplicable a.s.sault of the

baleens.

The food from the packages was a welcome change

from the bland liquid nutrients supplied by their suits, Cora finished her lunch, slid back into the water. They were entering their fourth day in the sea.

Such an existence compelled her to consider the catodon's way of thinking. Four days of eating, sleep- ing, and living in near open ocean is enough to affect anyone's outlook on life. Once she had spent fourteen consecutive hours in the water, but that was nothing

compared to four days.

A gentle current rocked you to sleep. You would awaken beneath the surface of the sea, to find a gla.s.s- faced human hovering above you and mumbling con- cerns. Once or twice a day it was time to bathe out- side your gelsuit. It began to seem foolish to get

dressed to get back into the water.

The reef became home as well as refuge. Certain hexalate growths grew as familiar as any furniture.

Several territorial teleosts greeted the swimming hu- mans as a.s.sociates, if not friends. Cora found herself worried one morning when a favorite blue and pink fish failed to appear on schedule, and was relieved

when it finally did.

At night they glowed alongside their protective bemmy, one remaining on watch while the others slept. Thousands of nocturnal reef dwellers com- menced to fill their half of the daily cycle of life. She nearly forgot what it was like to be a land-dwelling creature. Her legs were accustomed to functioning in smooth, alternating kicks now. How much easier, more graceful, it was than walking!

169.

Given gills instead of the confining gelsuit, she be- lieved she could adapt readily to an oceanic existence.

She found that she didn't miss solid land at all. In fact, if a.s.sured of an ample supply of food and fresh drink- ing water, she felt she could live this way for months on end.

Her enthusiasm was not shared by her companions.

Of the four, only Mataroreva seemed at home in the water. There his great bulk was neutralized and he became as graceful as a seal. But his moroseness turned to bitterness as the days pa.s.sed. When he talked to Cora or the others, it was with an increasing and unnatural brusqueness that was quite unlike him.

By now the last floating fragments of the town of Vai'oire had been carried off by the current. Any- thing potentially useful to the five refugees had been secured. Rather than drift and think, Cora tried to do some serious work.

It was while she was studying a particularly inter- esting anemonelike creature that Dawn swam down to join her. Bubbles rose like clear jelly from the back of her breathing unit.

"You mustn't blame Sam, you know."

"What? What makes you think I blame Sam for anything?"

"I've seen the way you watch him, react to his presence," the girl said. "It's there in the way your body moves, and in your eyes behind your mask."

Cora turned away from the purple fan she had been examining, looked around. She and Dawn were alone. Whatever expression the girl wore was distorted by the mask. Only her eyes could be seen.

"Sam-Sam's problem is that he genuinely loves everybody," Dawn explained. "You mustn't think of me as a rival."

Cora looked away nervously. That was precisely how she had come to regard her.

"It wasn't only me, you know," the lithe young

170.

CACHALOT.

woman continued. "I think Sam must know half the women on Cachalot. They all like him. Why shouldn't we? He's a wonderful, charming man. But a perma- nent mate?" She shook her head, the motion given an unintentional portentousness by the resistance of the

water.

Cora checked to make certain her broadcast unit was operating with only enough power for this inti- mate person-to-person conversation. "What makes you think I was considering Sam as anything more than

a ..."

"Oh, come on," Dawn scoffed gently. "You're as transparent as the water here. Don't you see that I'm trying to help you?"

"Don't do me any favors," Cora replied coolly.

"Sam-he . . ." The girl looked thoughtful. "He isn't designed to love just one woman. Some men and women aren't. He truly loves everyone, and feels- though he might not be able to articulate this feeling -that he should spread that great love around."

"I think you and I define love in different ways."

"Maybe we do, Ms. Xamantina. Maybe we do."

"Call me Cora."

"Thank you." Dawn smiled gratefully. "I'd like that. I'm only giving you a piece of advice, believe me. It's absurd for you to think of me as a rival for Sam's permanent affection. You can't compete for something that isn't available."

"That remains to be seen. You seem awfully cer- tain of yourself and your appraisal of Sam."

"It isn't just Sam," the girl said, oddly reflective.

"It's Cachalot. Sam was bom here. So was I. If you had been bom here, you'd understand his att.i.tude bet- ter than you seem to. The compet.i.tion is more than you imagine, and yet isn't really compet.i.tion at all."

"If you're trying to puzzle me, I don't pay much at- tention to riddles."

CACHALOT