Cachalot Read online

  "You're Cora Xamantina?" His palm enfolded hers.

  She pulled it away defensively. "Pardon?" Now, why did you do that? she asked herself. Why that instinctive pulling away? Looks and deceitfulness did not necessarily go together. That was Silvio's fault. Scientifically, there was no basis for such an assumption.

  Mataroreva appeared not to notice her defensiveness. He was already shaking Rachael's hand. "And you are Rachael?"

  "Yes." She shied away slightly when that huge mass of flesh leaned over her.

  Some official sent out to greet them, Cora thought. Well, that was only to be expected. She stood, prepared to ask those same but necessary questions all visitors to a new place must ask, when Mataroreva shocked her by moving farther down the aisle and addressing a third passenger.

  "And Mr. Merced, of course."

  "That's right."

  Cora stared open-mouthed at the little man.

  "You're from Commissioner Hwoshien's office?" Merced asked.

  Mataroreva smiled, ran thick fingers through the kelp-bed on his head. "Sort of a liaison between the government and the private companies chartered to operate here. That gives me the best and the worst of both sectors."

  Cora continued to stare at Merced, who looked like a dark splinter fallen from the flank of the huge Polynesian. Merced noticed her stare, appeared more embarrassed than ever.

  "I'm terribly sorry. I suppose I should have introduced myself before." He stepped out into the aisle. "I was just so fascinated by your daughter's instrument They're very rare, you know, and…" He stopped, flustered, and extended a hand. "I'm Professor of Advanced Oceanographic Research at the University of Toleamia on Repler."

  "Toleamia?" She wasn't ready to believe this irritating person was a representative of so prestigious an institution.

  "That's right." He sounded apologetic. "Please excuse me. I really was interested in the neurophon."

  "And in its operator?"

  "Mother…" Rachael said warningly.

  "I'd be lying if I said no." Merced seemed nothing if not truthful.

  Mataroreva's smile had faded somewhat as he listened to the exchange. "Am I missing something?"

  "No." Cora turned, forced herself to smile up at him. "Nothing important. We're very glad to be here, Mr. Mataroreva. I just hope that we can be of some help." She noted that they were the only passengers still aboard the shuttle. "If I seem confused, it's only because I was led to believe that my daughter and I were the only experts called in for consultation, to consider your problem." She looked at Merced. "I don't suppose your presence here and your being greeted by Mr. Mataroreva could mean you're going to work on something else?"

  "We're all here for the same reason, I'm afraid." Merced shifted his feet. "For what it's worth, I was as ignorant of your involvement until you boarded the shuttle as you were of mine. The difference was that I knew something of you by reputation and sight, and you did not know me." He forced a smile. "I shouldn't think we'd have any trouble working together."

  "Assuming that we do indeed end up working together." Cora was conceding nothing.

  Mataroreva was growing distinctly uncomfortable. She decided he deserved some reassurance.

  "I'm not usually this testy. It's been a long, difficult journey."

  "I understand." He relaxed a little. "Call me Sam, please."

  "Okay… Sam it is." She was too tired to debate protocol with anyone. Besides, "Sam" was a lot easier to say than "Mataroreva."

  "Good." He beamed. "Your large luggage should already be on its way to your rooms. Anything else?"

  They all shook their heads. Each had his or her instrument belt comfortably stocked and settled around the waist.

  "We can leave for Administration, then. But first…" Reaching into a large waterproof packet clipped to his Christmas-treelike belt, Mataroreva withdrew a handful of goggles made entirely of some supple, transparent material, the headband of the same stuff as the lenses. He slipped another pair over his own face. "They're completely self-adjusting," he said as the others slipped on their own. "I suggest you don't take them off until you're inside a building. You don't need them out on the open sea, either. All our buildings have windows formed from the same material."

  "Can't you grow used to the glare?" Cora asked.

  Mataroreva shook his head. "There's simply too much of it. You'd go blind eventually. You can take it early in the morning," and he stared into Cora's eyes in a way she didn't like, "or late at night when the sun's almost down. But while the local star is up, it's simply too much." He turned and exited the shuttle.

  Cora followed him, then Rachael with her precious neurophon, and lastly Merced.

  Then they were standing on the narrow, motionless pier. Clouds and sky appeared sunset dark because of the goggles. The lagoon itself stretched some twenty kilometers to the north, another thirty to the south. Transplanted off-world trees, water-anchored scrub growth, and additional piers all appeared dark from behind the special plastic. There was a dim reflection from the buildings scattered along the wide spit of sand.

  Cora raised her right hand and slipped a finger beneath the lower rim of the goggles. She lifted it slightly, glanced down and across at where the pier was slotted into the shore. Instantly something stabbed at the back of her eyes; crimson, emerald, blue, and yellow knives battered her outraged optic nerves. The light seemed as intense if not as pure as a cluster of tiny lasers. Hurriedly she let the goggles slip back into place, blinking away tears. Now the sand ahead merely twinkled at her through the lenses, did not blind.

  They were preparing to leave the pier when she felt a gentle tingle in her lower legs. The tingle traveled up her thighs, ran like an acrobatic arachnid up her spine. Simultaneously a plaintive melody sounded in her ears, counterpointing the delicate rippling active inside her.

  Apparently the subdued beauty was inspiring Rachael. Her daughter's hands caressed the neurophon. One strummed the dual sets of circular strings that lay in the center of the instrument, the other fluttered over the contact controls set in the instrument's handle and base. The coupling of aural music with the subsonic vibrations affecting her skin and nerves produced a relaxing sensation throughout Cora's body, as if she had just spent an hour beneath a fine-spray shower.

  Merced appeared similarly affected, but Mataroreva's reaction was quite different. The smile vanished from his face and he turned so abruptly he almost knocked Cora down.

  "What's the matter?" She tried to make the wide grin return. "I'm no music lover myself, but…"

  "It's not that." He was looking nervously beyond her. "It has nothing to do with the music. I like the music and the neuronics. It's just that… I think she'd better stop." He was standing on the edge of the pier, across from the shuttle, staring down into the muted crystalline water. Elongated bands of light, reflections of the sun on water ripples, flashed up at him.

  Rachael paused when he made a quieting gesture in her direction. "But you said you liked it," she protested. "I can play something else if you want."

  "Just turn off the dendritic resonators."

  "Not again." She petulantly ran her hand across a long series of contacts. Cora felt something combing her nerves. "I keep trying to explain it's all of one piece, the aural and the neuronics. If I can't conjoin them properly, I might as well give it up and take up the violin."

  "Just for now," Mataroreva said.

  Merced was also staring over the side of the pier. "I do believe there is something under the sand."

  Rachael ignored them both, her hands flicking angrily over the neurophon's controls, generating a last discordant dual projection before shutting the instrument off.

  Cora's nerves jumped a little under the sharp stimulation. Then she discovered herself bewilderedly stumbling backward. Seawater geysered in front of her. Draped by the water like a maiden in a blue-green suit was a four-meter-high orange body, flattened like a flounder's and encrusted with rough protrusions like a chunk of pumice. Several
thick pink pseudopods waved at the air. Cora did not see any eyes but received the distinct impression that the creature perceived her clearly.

  Mataroreva fell flat. From his cluttered equipment belt he withdrew a very compact beamer. The underwater weapon functioned well on dry land; a beam of bright blue struck the apparition in its midsection, or what Cora assumed to be its midsection. She could see it a bit more clearly now. Only seconds had passed. It looked like a cross between an obese squid and a starfish with delusions of grandeur. The blue fire struck between a pair of tentacles, pierced clean through the orange flesh. One thick, bristly appendage slapped wetly on the pier, only centimeters from Cora's ankles. The blue beam struck the creature again and it slid back into the water. It had not made a sound.

  Most would have lain quietly, panting and fearful. There was too much of the scientist in Cora to permit that. As soon as the creature vanished beneath the water she crawled quickly but cautiously to the edge. Large bubbles were making blemishes on the clear surface. She could barely make out a hint of thick bristles breaking the sand as the creature receded beneath it. Soon the bottom appeared undisturbed, as if nothing had slept there in the first place.

  Several figures were running toward them from the nearest of the low-lying buildings. A few were armed. Mataroreva got to his feet. Carefully he clipped the beamer back onto his belt.

  A hint of polished blue metal disappeared as Pucara Merced slid something indistinct into an inside compartment of his own belt. No one noticed. Cora's attention was still on the sea floor, as was Mataroreva's. Only the still-motionless Rachael, arms wrapped protectively around her instrument, had the faintest glimpse of the object, and she was too stunned by the suddenness of the attack for the tiny shape to register immediately on her mind.

  A couple from the building reached them, panting heavily. As soon as they saw that Mataroreva had re-clipped his beamer, they put away their own. He was leaning over the side of the pier.

  "What happened, Sam?"

  "Toglut."

  Now the man joined Mataroreva in inspecting the sand below. "It must've gone crazy." His brow was creased and he sounded confused. "I don't understand."

  The big Polynesian gestured toward Rachael. The woman who had joined them nodded understandingly. "She was playing that?"

  "I—I'm sorry." Rachael stared at them dumbly. "I didn't know. I mean, I know that a neurophon's vibrations can affect certain annuals. It's just… the water here is so shallow, and we're in a protected lagoon near human habitation and I—I didn't see…"

  Mataroreva stared grimly at her, seemed about to say something, and then he was smiling broadly as before, as if nothing had happened.

  "Forget it. It's over and no one was hurt. Not even the toglut, I think. I suppose that from a biological standpoint your assumptions were accurate. You couldn't have known there would be something within range of your instrument under the sand. Actually, your thinking was mostly correct. There are very few dangerous creatures living inside the reef, and most of them stay out in the center, where the water's deep." He pointed downward, over the side of the pier. "The toglut's big, but normally it's about as offensive as a kitten. I guess," he joked, "it wasn't much of a music lover, either." He grinned at Cora. "Anyway, you've had an introduction to the real Cachalot. This is a poorly explored, little-researched colony world. Paradise orbits a different star.

  "Come on." He looked over at the two newcomers who had joined them so hurriedly. "We'll manage, Terü," he told the woman. She nodded, turned to leave, but not before giving Rachael a disapproving glare.

  Mataroreva started to follow, but when he saw Cora still on hands and knees, staring over the side of the pier, he walked over to her and extended a massive brown paw. "Ms. Xamantina? Cora?"

  She glanced up at him. "A toglut, you called it?"

  "That's right. They spend most of their time under the sand. They can tear up a boat without working hard, but normally one would rather run than fight something half its size."

  "I wish I'd had a better look." She took his hand and he helped her to her feet. She continued to gaze down into the water. "Fascinating. I've never seen a cephalopod like that."

  "It's not a cephalopod."

  "Echinoderm?"

  He shook his head. "Polydermata. If I remember right. A new class, native to Cachalot. We have a lot of them, I'm told. You'll learn the reason for the name if you ever get the chance to dissect one. The cephalopodian characteristics are coincidental. Or mimicry."

  "That's marvelous. Really marvelous." She grew aware he was still holding her hand and pulled free.

  "Rachael—"

  "Please, Mother. No lectures, huh? I explained myself. Nobody's as sorry as I am."

  Cora sighed deeply. "You and that toy. I'm surprised at you, ascribing Earthly characteristics to an alien world. But I suppose I myself would have said, if asked, that it was probably safe to play that thing here." She started for the buildings, chatting with Mataroreva.

  Merced moved to walk alongside Rachael. "Anyone would have made the same assumption, just as your mother said. Besides," he added softly, "I thought what you were playing was beautiful."

  She looked down at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Merced."

  "Pucara, please. We are going to be working together."

  "Maybe," she replied cautiously. "We don't know the nature of the trouble, so I think it's a little premature to say we'll be working together." He looked away, lapsed into silence. "However," she added, "I hope that we will." She smiled enigmatically.

  "It's my hope also, Rachael. Maybe you'd be willing to play for me another tune, as you said you would. When we're a bit farther away from the water where your instrument's projections won't, uh, irritate the local life."

  "That'll have to include my mother. She tends to react like that toglut thing did." She chuckled.

  They were mounting a slight slope now, climbing the firmly packed sand. Occasional shafts of brightly colored light made her blink even through the protective haze created by the goggles.

  "She's protective of you," Merced ventured. "You can't blame her."

  "Protective of me?"

  Rachael laughed, the rhythmic trill so different from her husky speaking voice. "I can take care of myself. Besides, what does she have to be so protective of me for? What's there to protect me from?" And she smiled at Merced in what could only be called a challenging way. He simply smiled slightly and looked away.

  Intriguing character, she thought to herself. He acts so shy and tentative, yet some of his comments and questions are damned direct. She slid the neurophon around on its straps so that it snuggled beneath her left arm, made certain the power was off.

  Two mysteries for her to explore: Cachalot and Pucara Merced. Two mysteries to inspire music. She ran three fingers over the steel strings of her soul.

  Chapter III

  Having reached the top of the gentle slope, they found themselves among a complex of buildings. All displayed windows formed of the same phototropic material as their goggles. Some of the structures looked like housing, others were clearly used as offices and labs. Far to the south were the outlines of much larger buildings. Warehousing, perhaps, or processing facilities.

  The shuttle that had brought them in was now docked near one of the other, larger structures. Small human shapes could be seen using floaters to shift containers from building to shuttlebay and vice versa.

  They were approaching a two-story building larger than any they had yet passed. It occupied the crest of the hill. A Sag, hanging limply from a post in front of the entrance, displayed four circles arranged in a square: two blue, representing Terra; two green, standing for Hivehom. A fifth circle occupied the center, tangent to the other four. It was marked with a Maltese cross, half blue and half green on a crimson field. Were this a Church facility, the field would have been aquamarine. Flag and post were sufficient to indicate they were nearing the center of humanx activity on Cachalot.

&nb
sp; From what Rachael had learned of the ocean world, she knew it was not developed enough to qualify for even associate status in the Commonwealth. It was listed as a mere class nine, a general colony with no direct representation in the Council. Instead, it operated under the direction of a Resident Commissioner, like any other world without full membership. Its inhabitants would have true franchise only through their home-worlds. Those with multigenerational ancestry on Cachalot would be represented through the Commissioner.

  They halted before the entrance, and she and Merced slowed behind her mother and their guide.

  "I don't understand," Cora was saying, gesturing first at the Administration Building and then at the others nearby. "Don't you have a fusion plant?"

  "Sure," Sam told her. "For backup purposes. We hardly ever use it. Why do you find the photovoltaic paneling so unusual? It may not generate as much power as fast as a fusion reactor, but we have excellent storage systems and a year with ninety-five percent of the days sunny. In the long run it's much more efficient."

  "Meaning cheaper?"

  "Exactly. Generating a fusion reaction isn't that expensive. Containing and channeling it are."

  They passed the flagpole and encountered a small sign attached to a post made of coconut palm. Cora glanced expectantly at Mataroreva, who grinned at her.

  "That marks the highest point of land yet measured on Cachalot. Thirty-two meters above sea level." His grin grew wider and he gestured at the atoll. "The name 'Mou'anui' is itself a joke. It's the name this atoll was given by the first workers who settled here. My ancestors were among them. It means 'big mountain' in the ancient Tahitian tongue."

  "Everything's relative," Merced said from behind him.

  "Very true."

  "I would think you'd be swamped here." Cora looked back at the calm water of the lagoon. "We passed over a pretty good-sized storm on our way down."

  "That's why most of the people on Cachalot would choose to live on the floating towns even if there was more land. It's safer, easier to ride with a storm rather than fight against it." Mataroreva shrugged. "But for an administrative center, for a central distribution and product collection and processing point, it was decided that a truly permanent installation was required. There are larger atolls, but none with this much stable land, so it was decided to place the fixed buildings on Mou'anui.